


Absolution

by SFCBruce



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Masturbation, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, everlark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-03-23 08:49:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 27
Words: 311,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3762091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SFCBruce/pseuds/SFCBruce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A/U Hunger Games, looking at how different things would have turned out if there were two volunteers from District 12 for the 74th Hunger Games, rather than just one. Mature themes, adult situations, strong language, and eventual Everlark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**BOOK I - ALLEGATION**

**Allegation - A claim or assertion that someone has done something illegal or wrong, typically one made without proof**

**CHAPTER 1**

**PART I**

My father looks up at me from his position behind the big display case and smiles. "Thank you, son. Put that rack on top."

"Yes, Poppa," I mutter, sidling in behind him, then turning and squatting down, all the while balancing the rack, laden with freshly glazed pastries, in my two oven-mittened hands. The pastries smell wonderful - icing melting into every nook and cranny, the scent of cinnamon hanging in the air. Normally pastries this extravagant would be displayed in only one small section of the case, but today is no normal day.

Today is Reaping Day.

Despite the grim business that will take place in the District Square in a little more that eight hours, Reaping Day had a certain...well, festive quality to it. It was, after all, one of only two days a year when the mines were actually shut down - the other being the Harvest Day festival, conveniently held on the same day that the Hunger Games Victory Tour made its stop here in District Twelve - and most businesses didn't even bother opening on either day. Unless, of course, you sold food or drink.

That's why I'm working this Sunday morning, baking frantically before the sun even makes its appearance for the day. Our family bakery usually does great business on Reaping Day. The early rush will be the camera crews and officials from the Capitol, as well as the District Twelve Escort, Effie Trinket, who never fails to totter in on her ridiculously high heels sometime around nine to buy a single cinnamon bun. The Capitol rush will be followed by the Peacekeepers, many of whom are in a bad mood to begin with, with the entire District Twelve Peacekeeper force on duty on Reaping Day.

The bakery usually gets quiet starting at around noon, as every family with children of Reaping age is home getting ready to head to the Square. Actually,  _everyone_  was required to attend Reaping, if only just to watch the spectacle. From noon until two, every kid of Reaping age in the district will check in at the Square and take their place, sorted by age, in the waiting areas. Promptly at two the Reaping will start, and, mercifully, it's usually short - fifteen minutes, tops.

Following the Reaping, there's usually a lull of twenty to thirty minutes where all but two families breath a sigh of relief that their children were spared yet again - then the final rush of the day begins, as the rich and the poor, Merchant and Seam, anyone with a little extra coin in their pocket and a reason to celebrate, descend on the bakery one last time that day to buy something special for their Reaping Feast. And that's why I, a sixteen year old District Twelve Merchant boy, has to work when all of my friends are sleeping in.

My name is Peeta Mellark, and this is my fifth Reaping.

* * *

My father and I are working in the front, arranging pastries, breads, and cakes on their racks in the display case, when we both hear a furtive knocking on the back door.

I glance at my father quizzically as we both stand up simultaneously. Who could be knocking at this hour? The sun is barely peeking above the horizon, and we won't be open for hours - and it's much too early for deliveries. My two older brothers are still busy in the kitchen so I know it's not them...and my mother is probably not even out of bed yet...not that she would knock anyway.

"I'll get it, Peeta," my father says hastily, brushing past me as he wipes his hands on his apron. I shrug and continue to arrange our goods in the display case. It's only when I can hear my father talking with whoever was knocking that my curiosity gets the better of me.

As I walk casually into the back, I can hear my father clearly. "Good morning, Gale," he says warmly. "Happy Hunger Games to you."

Gale? As in... _Gale Hawthorne?_  What is  _he_ doing here this early? And - more importantly - was he alone?

"Thank you, sir," Gale replies. "Happy Hunger Games to you as well."

I enter the pantry just in time to hear my father say, "What do you have for me today?"

"Just this," Gale replies, glancing at me in surprise. I can see he's holding up a single fat squirrel by the tale. I can also see that he's alone. Somehow that knowledge relieves me.

My father, alerted by Gale's shifted gaze and surprised expression, turns his head to see me standing behind him. A brief guilty look flashes over his face as he turns back to Gale and takes the proffered squirrel from him.

"Nice and fat," my father says appreciatively. "Would you like coin or trade this morning?"

"Trade, sir, if you can spare something," Gale replies, still regarding me impassively.

"Of course. One moment." My father turns away, carefully placing the squirrel on a cutting board, then quickly brushing past me into the bakery, leaving me standing there awkwardly with Gale Hawthorne.

"Hey," I finally manage to say. I doubt if I've ever said more than half a dozen words to him in my life. I see his eyes narrow slightly.  _Can he see into me? Does he know...or suspect...how I feel about Katniss Everdeen - his best friend and hunting partner?_

"Hey," he finally replies in an even tone. I guess that's as good as it will ever get between Gale and I. His loathing for the Merchant class is well known, although, it seems, he's not above doing business with one of them.

"I hope this will do," my father says, brushing past me and handing Gale a fragrant loaf of freshly baked bread. My eyes widen in surprise and I can see the surprise on Gale's face as well. An entire loaf would usually be worth at least three squirrels in trade.  _The old man must be feeling sentimental this morning,_ I say to myself.

"Yes, sir," Gale says earnestly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," my father says with a smile as Gale turns to leave. "And Gale? Good luck today."

"Thanks again, Mr. Mellark," Gale says. His eyes catch mine and for a moment I think he's going to say something to me as well...then he spins on his heel and quickly strides away.

"Can you finish up front, Peeta?" My father asks. "I'd like to clean this fat fellow up and put the meat on ice for later."

"Yes, Poppa," I reply, and turn to go, only to be stopped by my father's hand on my shoulder.

I turn back towards Poppa. "It might be best not to mention my trade to your mother," he says softly. "She wouldn't understand."

I smile. "What trade?" I ask innocently. Poppa claps me on the shoulder and laughs.

"Exactly," he says with a twinkle in his eye.

**PART II**

I stand with the rest of the sixteen year old boys, sweating under a suddenly brutal mid-afternoon sun. I make a little small talk with some of the other boys...out of nervousness, mostly...as I nonchalantly scan the girls' side for one particular young woman.

There! I feel my heart skip a beat as Katniss Everdeen makes her way into the crowd of sixteen year old girls. Even from a distance I notice that she's freshly scrubbed - well, we all are, for that matter - and wearing a pretty short-sleeved blue dress that seems to hug her slim form. I can feel my mouth going dry as I try not to stare - and fail miserably.

My reverie is broken by a rude nudge from behind me, followed by a hoarse whisper in my left ear. "Mmm mmm mmm...Everdeen's lookin' pretty hot today!"

I stiffen at the voice. "Fuck you, Udo," I mutter, not bothering to even turn around. Udo Donner is Madge Undersee's second cousin. The Donner family owns the sweet shop. Udo's main job is to be a pain in the ass to as many people as possible. Even Madge can't stand him for very long, and he's the one person that Delly Cartwright, who's been my friend forever and loves  _everyone_ , hates with a passion.

Udo's only reply is to laugh unpleasantly. I sigh and stare straight ahead, stealing glimpses of Katniss out of the corner of my eye. Only a select handful of people know how I feel about Katniss Everdeen, although many more - Udo included - suspect.

Thankfully, the Reaping Day ceremony begins, effectively shutting Udo up for the time being. Mayor Undersee - Madge's father - steps to the microphone and reads from the same script that he's used as far back as I can remember. The history of Panem, how our country rose from the ashes of the Catastrophes that destroyed a place once known as North America. How the Capitol presided over the thirteen original districts, and how those districts rebelled during the Dark Days. How the Capitol defeated the districts during the ensuing war, completely destroying District Thirteen in the process. And how the surviving twelve districts, defeated and war-weary, agreed to end the war by signing the Treaty of Treason.

The Treaty of Treason gave us two things - new laws to ensure that the Dark Days never happen again, and the Hunger Games, where each district, once a year, was required to offer up in tribute one boy and one girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen, to fight to the death in a huge outdoor arena until only one survivor remained. This was the ultimate display of power and authority by the Capitol over the districts.

To be sure, the Capitol rewarded the Victors very handsomely. Each district had an area set aside known as "Victor's Village," a grouping of twelve huge mansions, that the Victor, as well as the Victor's family (if they had a family, that is), would live in. Victors were also paid enormous sums of money by the Capitol and became celebrities in their own right, making television appearances and gracing the covers of Capitol magazines. In addition, the Victor's district would receive special parcels every month for a year following the victory, containing not only staples and necessities, but luxury goods and gourmet foods rarely, if ever, seen in the outer districts, such as District Twelve.

District Twelve could boast a grand total of two Victors - in seventy-three years.

In fact, our one surviving Victor (the first died years before I was born), Haymitch Abernathy, was supposed to be here during the Reaping. The empty chair on the stage where Mayor Undersee was, at this very moment, wrapping up his speech, was for him. I didn't know Haymitch very well. A reclusive drunk, he mostly keeps to himself, but would, on occasion, stumble into the bakery to place an order. My father would almost always be the one to help him.

Haymitch Abernathy chooses that very moment to make his appearance, staggering onto the stage as the Mayor concludes his remarks, falling into his chair and trying to give Effie Trinket a big hug as a smattering of applause from the crowd greets him.

Even from a distance I can tell that the Mayor is not happy with Haymitch's entrance. I feel for him. Madge had once told me that her father had very little real authority - true authority was reserved for the Capitol Liaison and the Peacekeepers - and that his sole job seemed to consist of being blamed for whatever went wrong in District Twelve. And, as the Reapings were televised all over Panem, I'm sure that someone in the Capitol will have something to say to Mayor Undersee regarding Haymitch's behavior once the Reaping is over.

Gratefully, Mayor Undersee turns to the microphone one final time, and announces, "Now, may I please present, the District Twelve Escort, Miss Effie Trinket."

The Mayor brushes past Effie as she literally bounces to the podium, as upbeat and bubbly as she always is. As the Mayor sinks wearily into his chair, Effie taps the microphone once and says, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be  _evah_ in your  _fav-uh!_ "

I can't help but smile at her affected Capitol accent, so different from the soft drawl of Twelve. Effie continues on, seemingly unaware that her pink wig is listing slightly to one side following her brief tussle with Haymitch, "And what an honor it is to be here, on this absolutely gorgeous day! But let's get on with it, shall we?" Effie pauses for a moment, then trills, "Ladies first!"

I can feel my stomach knot up as it always does as Effie crosses over to the large glass bowl containing the girls' names. She dips her hand into the bowl, swirling it around a couple of times, then plunges deep, extracting a slip of paper with a flourish. As she crosses back over to the microphone, I begin my silent mantra.  _Oh please, not her. Oh please, not her! Oh Please, Not Her! OH PLEASE, NOT HER!_

Effie opens the slip and makes a production out of smoothing it out.  _Just get on with it and read the fucking name!_  I want to scream at her. I tense as she opens her mouth and reads -

"Primrose Everdeen!"

* * *

No.

Not  _her_.

I know who she is. Katniss's twelve year old sister. A murmur goes up from the crowd, one that I add to, as it always does when a twelve year olds' name is called. Everyone hates the Games, but a  _twelve!_  I just heard Effie Trinket read a death warrant, not a Reaping. Primrose Everdeen has zero chance...and everyone here knows it.

I notice the Peacekeepers shift subtlety, reacting to the crowd's displeasure, as, out of the corner of my eye, I see a small, blonde girl, twin braids falling down her back, walking toward the stage with stiff, tiny steps. I don't blame her. She knows that she might as well be walking to her gallows.

What must it be like to be twelve years old, and in the space of two words, suddenly realize that your life expectancy can now be measured in days rather than decades? I feel bile rising in my throat and I choke it back down.  _Katniss._  The name suddenly flashes through my mind.  _What about Katniss?_  My eyes flicker over the area across from me where the sixteen year old girls are assembled. I can't see her! Where -

There she is! "Prim!" I hear her strangled cry as she bursts from the crowd, the other girls making a clear path for her as she rushes towards her sister.

"Prim!" I hear Katniss shout again. Katniss reaches her sister just as she's about to mount the steps. I see her push Primrose behind her with a single sweep of her arm, and then Katniss Everdeen shocks everyone.

"I volunteer!" She gasps.  _No!_  "I volunteer as Tribute!"

No one present can ever remember anyone in District Twelve volunteering. But Katniss has done just that. "No..." I moan softly. I don't care if anyone hears me or not.

"Lovely!" I glance back up at the stage, where Effie Trinket is talking. "But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the Reaping winner -" Winner...now  _that_  would be funny, if I didn't already feel like throwing up "- and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth, then we, um..."

Effie Trinket is confused. She has no idea what to do when someone volunteers. Well, this is new ground for everyone here.

"What does it matter?" Mayor Undersee says from his seat. He stands and takes a step forward. "What does it matter?" He snaps again. "Let her come forward."

I'm only dimly aware of Primrose Everdeen screaming hysterically, clutching Katniss from behind, and Katniss saying something to her, but I'm too far away to make out individual words. Primrose has a death grip on Katniss, until I see a boy step out from the eighteens and gently, but firmly, grab Primrose and pry her arms off of Katniss.

It's Gale Hawthorne.

I see Gale say something to Katniss, who nods slightly and turns back toward the stage as Gale carries the kicking, screaming girl off toward the back of the crowd. Technically, leaving his assembly area is a breach of protocol, but I don't see a single Peacekeeper move to stop him.

Effie Trinket, in the meantime, has regained her composure. "Well, bravo! That's the spirit of the Games!" This stupid bitch actually sounds happy! I would gladly strangle her, right here, right now. "What's your name?" She asks Katniss.

"Katniss Everdeen." Her voice is steady, never wavering once.

"I bet my buttons that was your sister," Effie gushes. "Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest Tribute!"

You could hear a pin drop. It was that quiet. Then, it happens.

I don't know who started it, or from where, but one person after another kisses the three middle fingers of their left hand, then extends those fingers up and out towards Katniss. It's an incredibly old gesture, rarely used anymore. Sometimes you see it at funerals. It's a gesture of respect, admiration...and farewell. Good-bye to someone you love. And my fingers are raised along with everyone else's.

The spell is broken by none other than Haymitch Abernathy, who lurches from his seat and staggers across the stage, drunkenly draping his arm around Katniss's shoulders. "Look at her!" he shouts to the cameras. "Look at this one! I like her!" He's wavering back and forth as he continues his tirade at the cameras. "Lots of..." he squints and tries to plant his feet firmly. "Spunk!" He finally shouts, letting go of Katniss to stagger to the very front of the stage, wagging his finger at the cameras. "More than you!" He shouts drunkenly. "More than you!" He repeats, then, to a gasp from the crowd, he plummets off the stage and lands in a boneless heap at the base of the steps.

Through all of this, Katniss stands calmly, hands clasped behind her back.  _You're beautiful._  A hand roughly claps across my shoulders and I groan. Udo Donner  _again?_

"The old drunks' got some balls, I'll say that much for him!" Udo cackles softly.

"Fuck you, Udo," I say again, tiredly, as I watch Haymitch loaded onto a stretcher to be carted off...somewhere. I return my attention to the stage, where Effie Trinket is making a noble attempt to straighten her wig, even as she says, "What an exciting day! But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy Tribute!" Effie, one hand planted firmly on her wig, quickly crosses over to the glass ball containing the boys' names and jams her hand into the mass of paper, grabbing the first slip that she touches, and totters back to the microphone to read the name of the poor bastard that will, in all probability, be dead in about two weeks.

Effie opens the paper and smoothes it out. Suddenly, I'm exhausted. I just want to sit down. I just -

"Peeta Mellark!"

I look up and blink twice. Did I just hear right? My worst fears are confirmed when I hear Udo Donner mutter two words from behind me.

"Oh, shit!"

* * *

I steel myself and walk through the crowd, the boys parting for me as if by magic. Of course. No one wants to touch - or be touched - by the unlucky soul that has just been Reaped. It might rub off, after all.

I walk slowly up to the stage, my legs wooden. I know that everyone here can hear my heart pounding in my chest. I see Katniss loom, ever closer, with each step. She's staring over my head at some object across the square, steadfastly ignoring me. I stop at the base of the steps, then mount them one at a time, slowly, until I'm standing on the stage. I take my place next to Katniss, clenching my hands into fists so no one can see them trembling.

"Wonderful!" Effie trills, smiling at me. I think I manage a ghost of a smile in return. At least I could feel my mouth moving.

"Well!" Effie continues, "Before we introduce our newest Tribute, I must ask...are there any volunteers?"

I try to count heartbeats through the deafening silence, wondering how many I have left, when lightning strikes twice in the same spot.

"Me," a deep voice says evenly. "I mean, I volunteer. I volunteer as Tribute."

A shocked gasp rises from the crowd as the volunteer steps forward. My eyes widen as I clearly see my benefactor for the first time, and I realize that I had just spoken to him mere hours before.

"Gale!" Katniss hisses. "No! You  _can't!_ "

Gale Hawthorne mounts the steps to the stage nonchalantly, giving Katniss a crooked grin as he does so. I feel a hand on my shoulder and twist my head around to see Mayor Undersee standing directly behind me. He gently but firmly pulls me back as Gale Hawthorne steps into my place. Only then does he turn and face Katniss.

"I'm your partner, Catnip," he says firmly. "In  _everything._ "

**PART III**

"Come on, son," the Mayor says gently. I numbly allow him to lead me back to the group of seats behind where Katniss, Effie, and Gale were now standing. The Mayor gently pushes me into the chair that Haymitch had been sitting in, then sits down next to me.

"Well!" I hear Effie say. "How absolutely  _thrilling!_  We're seeing history made today!  _Two_  volunteers! And what is your name?"

"Gale Hawthorne." Gale's voice is firm and unwavering.

"And I'm to assume that you and Katniss know each other?" Effie asks.

"Yes," Gale replies. "Katniss is my best friend."

"Was, you mean," Katniss snaps. "Gale, what the  _fuck_  were you thinking?"

Effie blanches a bit as Katniss's expletive is broadcast live over all of Panem, but she recovers quickly. "And now Mayor Undersee will read the Treaty of Treason."

The Mayor stands up, gives my shoulder a squeeze, then steps forward to the podium and begins to read the Treaty of Treason. As he reads, Effie slips back to where I'm sitting and perches on a chair next to me.

"I'm so sorry," she begins.  _Sorry? For what? Me not having to die?_  "I'm not at all sure what the protocol is for you. Perhaps you should just stay here until after the anthem. Yes, that's it. You can leave by the steps on the side of the stage, over there." Effie points off to the side at the steps that she and the Mayor - and, presumably, Haymitch Abernathy as well - used to ascend to the stage.

The Mayor finishes the reading of the Treaty of Treason, then turns to Katniss and Gale. "Go ahead and shake hands, you two," he instructs. Gale immediately sticks his hand out. Katniss glares, first at him, then his hand, then back at him as she finally takes his hand for a split second then drops it immediately. The National Anthem of Panem begins to play. Effie and I both rise to our feet. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Effie mouthing the lyrics to the song.

As soon as the song is over, a pair of Peacekeepers flanks Katniss as another pair steps up to Gale. Even as the Mayor is announcing the conclusion of the Reaping, the Peacekeepers hustle Katniss and Gale into the Justice Building. They brush by me as they enter. Gale acts like he doesn't even notice me standing there, but Katniss shoots me a look of pure rage as she walks by. Effie and the Mayor follow them inside. Only then do I turn and walk slowly off the stage.

I feel an overwhelming sense of relief - but, at the same time, I feel... _cheated_  somehow. And guilty. Guilty that Gale Hawthorne has just volunteered to die in my place.

And I have no idea why.

* * *

I'm mobbed by family and friends within a minute after stepping off the stage. Madge, Delly, the guys from the school wrestling team, my father and brothers - even my mother managed to give me a brief hug.

After a few emotional moments, my father takes me aside. "Peeta, do you have any idea why Gale Hawthorne would volunteer for you?"

"None," I answer truthfully.

"Did you two talk this morning when he stopped by?" My father asks.

"We just said hello to each other," I reply. "That's it."

"It's a miracle," he says softly, then, "I better hurry if I'm gonna get on their Visitor lists."

My father had a tradition of giving Tributes a small bag of cookies. He started it long before he had inherited the bakery. He said that at one Reaping, when he was fifteen, both Tributes were Reaped from the Community Home. He said that no one came to say goodbye to them. They both died during the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. Since then, my father was determined that every Tribute from District Twelve would have someone come see them to say goodbye...to show them that at least one person in the district cared. And that gave me an idea.

"Poppa," I ask, "Could I do the visits this year?"

My father hesitates for a moment before answering. "Peeta - doing these visits is...difficult. More so since you personally know Gale. Are you sure?"

I didn't want to correct him and say that I don't know Gale, not really anyway. But I did want answers. "I'm sure, Poppa."

My father smiles wistfully at me, then pulls two small paper-wrapped packages from his jacket pockets and hands both to me.

"Here," he says as he hands me the small paper packages. "Better hurry. I'll...we'll see you at home, Son." Poppa suddenly pulls me into a tight embrace, then releases me and walks off quickly.

I clutch the two small packages tightly as I slowly walk toward the Justice Building.  _What am I gonna say to them?_ I ask myself, suddenly having second thoughts.  _Good luck? I'm sorry? What_ can _I possibly say to two people that, in all probability, will be dead in two weeks?_

I'm still fretting as I pull open the doors to the Justice Building and step into the dark interior.

**PART IV**

I pause and let my eyes adjust. The main lobby is spacious and high-ceilinged. I realize that this is the first time I've ever been in here, even though I've walked by this building literally thousands of times.

Roughly in the center of the lobby I spot Effie Trinket, standing with a pair of Peacekeepers. I also notice two groups of people standing near a pair of doors. I spot Madge Undersee standing near one door and realize that she must be here to see Katniss - aside from Gale Hawthorne, Madge is the closest thing that Katniss has to a friend. Two Seam kids, a boy and a girl about Gale's age, are standing near the other door. They see me and both glare in my direction, then pointedly ignore me.

"Young man," Effie's voice comes from behind me. I turn to see her looking at me curiously. "What are you doing here? You've been excused!"

"I -" She's right. What  _am_  I doing here? The paper packages in my hands remind me. My father has been doing this for years. If he can, I can. I take a deep breath. "I've come to visit my...the Tributes."

"Oh," Effie says, obviously surprised. "I wasn't aware that you knew them."

"I don't," I admit. "It's...it's a tradition. With my family. My father comes after every Reaping to give the Tributes these." I hold up the packages.

"Ahh," Effie says, understanding brightening her face. "You're the baker's son! Peeta, right?" I nod. Effie smiles and continues, "I thought so! Your father is a good man, Peeta. Well...let me add your name to the list. You'll visit whomever becomes available first, alright?"

"Yes, ma'am," I say softly, suddenly nervous.  _What am I gonna say to them?_  I hear a door open behind me and a Peacekeeper say, "You have five minutes." I turn to see what door I should go to first - and find myself staring straight into the face of Mrs. Hawthorne.

She's standing an arms length away from me, her face set in a frozen mask, her Seam-gray eyes glaring at me. Behind her I can see her other children - two skinny boys and a skinny little girl. The oldest boy is mirroring his mothers expression as he, too, glares at me.

I take several deep breaths before speaking. "Mrs. Hawthorne, I -"

"Save it, boy," she spits. "You've some gall coming in here. Come to gloat, did you? Fucking Merchant scum!" As she speaks, her voice rises steadily until she's shouting, a look of pure hate on her face. "Get out! It should be you in that room, not my Gale! Not my boy!"

I can do nothing but stand there and take it as Mrs. Hawthorne -  _Hazelle_ , I finally remember is her first name - screams out her hate and grief at me. Effie is frozen in place, a shocked look on her face. The Peacekeepers standing near Effie step forward and hustle the Hawthornes out of the Justice Building, with Mrs. Hawthorne screaming at me every step of the way.

Effie turns to me, finally able to move following Mrs. Hawthorne's tirade. "I'm so sorry. She's wrong."

"Is she?" I ask bitterly. "Her sons name wasn't called. Mine was. By you."

Effie says nothing for a moment, then points toward the two doors. "Which - whichever one is available first," she says quietly. I glance over at the doors. No one's waiting outside either one. I turn back toward Effie.

"Thanks," I mutter, then I turn and walk toward the doors, positioning myself between them. I don't have long to wait. One door opens and Madge Undersee walks out. She says nothing but gives me a small smile as she walks past.

"You," a voice says. I turn and see a Peacekeeper beckoning me over. As I enter the door he says, "Five minutes." I realize that I'm standing in an alcove. The Peacekeeper closes the door then reaches over toward a second door, turning the knob and pushing it open. He beckons me forward and, stiff-legged, my heart pounding, I walk through the door. The Peacekeeper closes it firmly behind me and I'm suddenly standing face to face with Katniss Everdeen.

* * *

Katniss stares at me for a moment, incomprehension on her face, then sighs and turns away, arms folded across her chest, as she stares out the dirty window.

"Well?" she snaps.

"I...uhh, I mean, my father...he - every year, he -"

"Your  _father?_ " She asks incredulously. "You came in here to tell me about your  _father?_  Please tell me why I should give a  _shit_  about your father?!"

I can feel my ears and neck redden and I hate myself for my embarrassment. "He...he visits the Trib - that is to say, after the Reap - he comes every year to say - to tell them good -"

"Good luck?" Katniss snaps. "Happy Hunger Games? May the odds be  _evah_  in your  _fav-uh?_ "

"N-no," I stammer. I thrust a paper-wrapped package of cookies at her. "Here."

Katniss frowns and slowly reaches out to take the package from me. "What -"

"They're cookies," I explain, finally finding my voice. "My Pop...father, he does this every year. He started it when he was sixteen."

"But not this year," Katniss says in a more subdued tone.

"I asked him if I could," I explain quietly.

"Why?" Katniss asks.

"Because I -" I hesitate. How the hell do I answer that?  _Because I love you, Katniss?_  "Because I felt I should," I finish lamely.

Surprisingly, Katniss seems to accept that. "Oh. I see," she says, hefting the package.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Katniss sniffs the package, then looks up at me. "They - smell good."

"I'm sorry," I blurt. Katniss looks at me sharply, her eyes narrowed...then her features soften a bit.

"Yeah," she finally says. "I know."

"It should've been me instead of him," I find myself saying.

"It should've, but it's not," Katniss replies. "Can't change that now."

"No," I say. "No, I can't."

"I heard yelling earlier," Katniss says suddenly. "When Madge was in here with me. Was that Hazelle Hawthorne?"

"Yes," I softly admit. "It was."

"Yelling at you," Katniss says. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," I say, looking at the floor, feelings of guilt washing over me.

"Oh," Katniss says. "She was wrong to do that."

"It's okay," I say. "I understand why."

The Peacekeeper opens the door and pokes his head in. "Time," he says.

"Okay," I say to the Peacekeeper, then turn back to Katniss. "It's time. Good -"

"Don't say it," Katniss blurts. "Don't say good luck or goodbye. I don't believe in luck, and you only say goodbye to people that are never coming back."

"See you later, then," I say, trying to keep my voice from trembling.

Katniss is amazingly calm as she responds, "Okay," even as the door closes between us. One more visit to go. I eye the other door warily, even as a Peacekeeper sticks his head out, spots me, and says, "Come on!"

I take a deep breath, walk forward, and go through the door to face Gale Hawthorne.

* * *

I enter the room to find Gale standing with his back to the door, arms folded across his chest, staring out his own dirty window at the world outside. He doesn't turn around, even when the door closes behind me.

I stand in silence for a few moments before speaking. "Gale -"

"Stop," he says quietly. "I'll say this once. If I hear the words 'thank you' or 'I'm sorry' come out of your mouth, I guarantee you'll be spitting out teeth."

"Fair enough." I extend my hand, the one holding the paper wrapped package of cookies, toward him. "Here."

Gale's head swivels around and he frowns when he sees the package. "What is it?"

"From my father," I explain. "He does this every year. Has since he was sixteen. Take it."

Gale slowly turns and reaches out, taking the package from me. Like Katniss, he puts the paper to his nose and sniffs. To my surprise, his face cracks into a smile.

"They smell good," he says. "I can't remember the last time I had a cookie."

"Katniss liked how they smell too," I say.

"I bet," Gale says, hefting the bag. "Your father's a good guy. Thanks."

"I need to ask you something," I blurt.

"Why?" He asks. I nod. "You of all people should know the answer to that one."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask.

Gale laughs. He actually laughs. "Come off it, Mellark," he finally says. "You'd have to be half blind not to see how you moon after her."

Once again, I can feel myself blushing. "See?" Gale says. "Look at you. Beet red."

"So why should I know the answer to why?" I ask defensively. Gale just stares at me and slowly crosses his arms in front of his chest. The realization of what he said suddenly hits me like a sledgehammer.

"You," I say in almost a whisper. "You...love her? Too?"

Gale sighs heavily. "Pathetic, ain't it?" He asks. "And to answer your next question...no, she has no idea, and no, I'm not telling her."

"She looked pretty pissed when you volunteered," I say.

"You don't know the half of it," he says. "But it ain't the first time she's been pissed at me. Still, it's a good thing that the Games don't start right away. The way she feels right now she just may be tempted to kill me herself."

"So what are you gonna do?" I ask.

"Simple," he replies. "Keep her alive. Get her a bow. If she has a bow she'll be unstoppable."

"And what about you?" I find myself asking.

Gale shrugs. "My mother asked me the same question. She also screamed at me and called me 'selfish' and 'idiot.' I heard her yelling at you, by the way. She shouldn't have taken it out on you. But this isn't about me. It's about her. She wins and she takes care of my family for life."

"What happens if...she doesn't?" I ask, feeling my stomach churn at the thought.

Gales features harden. "Then I'll win and take care of her mother and sister. That's all there is to it."

_If only it was that easy,_  I say to myself. "I just want you to know that I would've gone. I was ready to go."

"And would you've protected her?" Gale asks, then shakes his head. "Never mind. You would've tried...and died trying."

I bristle a little at the insinuation that I wouldn't be capable of protecting Katniss...but, then again, he's probably right. I know absolutely nothing about the woods, or hunting, fishing, or trapping. They do.

"Time," a Peacekeeper calls out, poking his head in the room.

I stick out my hand. After a moment, Gale takes it. We shake firmly. I want to say something -  _anything_  - but words don't seem adequate. Finally, I turn to go.

My hand is on the door handle when Gale speaks. "Peeta," he says softy. "She's coming home."

I just nod, not trusting myself to speak, then I slip through the door, shutting it firmly behind me. It was only then that I realize that Gale called me by my first name.

**PART V**

The Square is mostly empty now. A work crew is busy tearing down the stage - carefully, as it will be used again next year. I notice that they leave up the huge Holo-TV projector.

Many people come to the Square for Mandatory Viewing during the Games.

There won't be any Mandatory Viewing until later on tonight, when the recap of the Reapings is shown. I jam my hands into my pockets and wander aimlessly around the Square. I just don't feel like going home yet.

I find myself wandering near the train station. On an impulse, I enter the terminal. Through the glass doors I can see the platform, and, beyond that, the gleaming Tribute Train, there to take Katniss and Gale -  _and almost me_  - to the Capitol. They'll be accompanied by Effie Trinket and Haymitch Abernathy.

I'm on the platform before I know it. There's a handful of people out here...mostly Capitol film crews, some Peacekeepers, and people from the Capitol Liaison office here in Twelve. And the Everdeen and Hawthorne families, here hoping for a last glimpse, a last word before the trail whisks Katniss and Gale off to the Capitol.

Quickly, I slip behind a pillar on the far side of the platform, hoping against hope that no one saw me.  _What am I doing here?_  I ask myself...but I already know the answer.

Guilt.

Guilt that Gale Hawthorne is the one going to the Capitol. Guilt that he will almost certainly die - he's already said as much, his goal is to keep Katniss alive. I sigh heavily. I find myself hoping that he's successful - even knowing that it means that Gale Hawthorne must die.

The doors at the far end of the platform suddenly slide open and I catch sight of a squad of Peacekeepers hustling Katniss and Gale onto the train, followed by Effie Trinket and Haymitch Abernathy. It won't be long now.

I should go home. Neither Katniss or Gale will be allowed anywhere near the observation car windows...not that they would have wanted to put themselves through that torture anyway. But I can see the Everdeens and Hawthornes still standing on the platform, so I stay, if for no reason than to not let them see me leaving. I don't want a repeat of the Justice Building screaming match.

As it turns out, I'm in the only position to see what happens next. I hear a bathroom window slide open on the train. These windows only open a few centimeters so there's no risk of someone trying to climb through to make an escape attempt. Curious, I watch as a feminine arm, clad in blue short sleeves, extends out from the window and drops a small white bundle on the tracks below, then quickly disappear inside the train. Seconds later, the train begins to move, quickly gaining speed until it disappears from view completely.

I stay hidden until the Hawthornes and Everdeens leave the platform, then I emerge from behind the pillar...but I don't go back into the terminal. Instead, I walk to the end of the platform and jump down, walking toward the small white bundle laying next to the tracks.

I feel my heart rise in my throat as I draw near and squat down next to the bundle. It burst open when it hit the ground. Already I see hundreds of ants wheeling excitedly over the contents.

It was the paper wrapped package of cookies that I had given Katniss.

* * *

Later on, I sit listlessly in our tiny living room, watching the end of the Mandatory Viewing broadcast of the Reapings.

"Look at you!" My brother Quinn says with a laugh as he watches me climb the steps onto the stage. "You look like you're gonna piss your pants!"

"That's enough, Quinn!" My father barks. Quinn is the closest to me in age. At eighteen, this had been his last Reaping.

"Yeah, well, I didn't see you jumping up to volunteer, asshole," I mutter, drawing a sharp rebuke from my father. No doubt about it, tensions in the Mellark household are quite high tonight.

Quinn opens his mouth to say something, but before he can say a word, there's a loud "thump" on our front door, immediately followed by a man's voice yelling, "Fucking coward!" We can all hear the sounds of several people running off.

"What the hell?" My father gets up from his chair and walks to the front door, Quinn and I close behind. Poppa opens the door and recoils immediately as a moist, brownish, stinking lump slowly slides down the door. He slams the door quickly before the mass can drip onto the floor. My father turns and looks at my brother and I.

"I don't believe it," he mutters.

"Was that -" I begin, before Quinn cuts me off.

"Shit," Quinn says grimly. "Someone threw a handful of dog shit on our door!"

"Why?" Poppa mutters. "Why would anyone do such a thing?"

I had no idea, but I am sure it has something to do with me.

* * *

A few minutes later, Quinn and I are outside, scrubbing the remnants of the dog shit off of our front door, and trying desperately not to gag in the process, when I get an unexpected guest. Delly Cartwright, my lifelong friend, appears out of the darkness, standing in the dim light of our small porch lamp. It's an oil lamp...once Mandatory Viewing was over, the electricity was promptly shut off.

"Peeta!" She gasps. "Are you okay?"

"What are you doing out after curfew, Delly?" I hiss. "If the Peacekeepers catch you -"

"They won't," Delly says firmly. "Besides, I only live three doors away. Remember? Besides, I came over to ask you if it's true...although I know it just  _can't_  be!"

I look at her in exasperation. Quinn is looking at her with open curiosity. "What the hell are you talking about, Delly?" Quinn asks.

Delly looks at Quinn, then back at me, then at the mess we're cleaning up. "It's started," she whispers.

"Delly, please start making sense!" I snap.

Delly turns to face me. I can tell that she's on the verge of tears. "There's...there's a rumor going around that started this afternoon, right after the Reaping."

"What rumor, Delly?" I ask, although I have a sneaking suspicion that it somehow involves me...and Gale.

"I know it can't be true, Peeta," Delly says, losing the battle with her tears. "But the rumor is...that you made some sort of deal with Gale, and you and your family paid him off to volunteer for you if your name was called."

I turn and sink down on the front steps of my families' house. I didn't think this day could get any worse. I was wrong.

It just did.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

**PART I**

The next day, of course, it was business as usual in the Mellark Bakery. Hunger Games or no Hunger Games, rumors or no rumors, we still had bread to sell, cookies to bake, and cakes to decorate. And, as school was out for the Summer Holiday, that meant that I could devote all of my time to laboring in the bakery. Yes, it was pretty much a normal day.

Except for the visit by the Peacekeepers.

The rumor that I had somehow managed to come up with enough money to pay Gale to volunteer for me at the Reaping has spread throughout the district by the time we opened the bakery for business. Surprisingly, mother was actually on my side. She realizes that there was no way that I would have been able to come up with a large enough sum of money to make it worth the risks that Gale would be taking by volunteering to begin with. In fact, I doubt if I have five Sesterces to my name...not enough to feed a family of four for half a week, let alone indefinitely.

I was treating it like some kid's idea of a sick joke - until the Peacekeepers showed up.

I was working in back, stacking fifty kilo sacks of flour, when I heard the voices up front, talking with Poppa. "Good morning," I hear him say. "How can I help you today?"

A woman's voice replies. "We're looking for Peeta Mellark."

"He's my son," my father explains. "What do you want with him?"

"That's none of your concern," the woman replies sternly. "Produce him."

"It most certainly is my concern," I hear Poppa say, his voice starting to rise. "He's a juvenile and I'm responsible for him until he comes of age."

I toss down then flour sack that I'm holding and hurry out to the front of the bakery. Poppa is normally very mild-mannered - except where his children are concerned.

It's a good thing that I decided to show myself. As I step into the front of the bakery I see a pair of Peacekeepers standing in front of my father. The larger of the two - an older woman, maybe in her thirties, I can now see - is holding something in her right hand. With a practiced flick of her wrist she snaps her hand down toward the floor sharply. The object in her hand lengthens suddenly and I can see now it's a collapsible baton that the Peacekeepers favor.

"My patience is at an end with you, Mellark!" she snaps. "I'll not tell you again to produce -"

"I'm Peeta," I say calmly, addressing the female Peacekeeper. I finally get a good look at both of them. The woman has short, spiky salt-and-pepper hair...maybe she's older than her thirties...and a thin, hatchet face that reminds me of nothing more than my own mother. The male Peacekeeper is considerably younger, just a few years older than me, in fact, with a shock of red hair and - surprisingly enough - a friendly, open face.

The woman spins toward me. "Peeta Mellark?" she snaps.

_Didn't I just say so?_  "Yes, ma'am," I reply.

The woman collapses her baton with a practiced motion and smoothly slides it into a carrier on her belt. "You will come with us."

Poppa steps forward to protest. "Now just a moment! Is my son being arrested?"

The woman glares at Poppa and her hand twitches toward her belt again...this time toward the pistol holstered there. The red-haired Peacekeeper, eyes wide in alarm, glances first at his partner, then at my father - and forcefully steps between them.

"Mr. Mellark," the young Peacekeeper says, "No doubt you're aware of the rumors regarding your son and Gale Hawthorne. The law, as you probably already know, is quite specific as to what constitutes a lawful volunteer, and Article Two, Section Four, of the Treaty of Treason states that a person of Reaping age may volunteer for a Tribute Candidate of the same gender, by their own free will and without coercion or promise of compensation of any kind."

The young Peacekeeper glances back at the woman, who's still glaring at my father with her hand resting on the butt of her pistol. "Officer Breccia, here, and I were given instructions this morning by Commander Cray to escort Peeta Mellark to Peacekeeper Headquarters for the purpose of conducting a computerized polygraph and voice stress analysis interview."

"A  _what_?" My father asks in a sharp tone.

"It's a computer that will tell us if your son is lying to us...or not," the woman - Officer Breccia, the younger Peacekeeper had called her - replies, smiling unpleasantly. "And  _if_  we discover that he is lying, he will be charged with a Class Two violation of the Treaty of Treason and punished accordingly."

My father glances at me, the concern evident on his face. "What - what's the punishment for lying?"

"Poppa, I'm  _not_  lying!" I shout.

"Twenty-five lashes in the Town Square, loss of Tesserae privileges, loss of exclusion from any future Reapings that he may be eligible for, and twenty-five additional Reaping Slips added to his name for each year of Reaping eligibility." Officer Breccia gives me that same unpleasant smile as she recites the various punishments.

"What does 'loss of exclusion' mean?" My father asks.

The younger Peacekeeper explains. "According to the Treaty of Treason, a Tribute Candidate that has been excused due to his or her replacement by a volunteer is excluded from the subsequent years' Reaping, if that Candidate is still of Reaping age. In other words, even though Peeta will be required to sign in and attend next years' Reaping, he will have no Slips in the Reaping Bowl. Loss of exclusion negates that, and it also prevents anyone from being able to volunteer for him."

I swallow heavily. If this computer decides that I'm lying, I will be flogged in the Town Square, and twenty-five additional Reaping Slips will be entered into the Bowl for each of my final two years of eligibility. By my last Reaping, I would have fifty-seven entries...fifteen more than Gale Hawthorne did for  _his_  last Reaping.

The odds would most certainly be not in my favor.

"We're wasting time," Officer Breccia says, stepping forward and grabbing my left arm firmly. "Let's go. Come along, you." Without waiting for her partner she hustles me to the bakery door and pushes it open. She pauses at the door and turns around one final time. "You'll see him again by noon...either home and free, or getting his back striped in the Square."

I glance back at my father as the younger Peacekeeper falls in on my right, grabbing my right arm in a somewhat gentler fashion than his partner. "I'll see you at lunch, Poppa."

I've never seen my father look so worried.

**PART II**

"Sit down," the younger Peacekeeper says, pointing at a chair on one side of a table. I pull the chair out and sit as the younger Peacekeeper does the same. He opens a small notebook-sized computer and types rapidly for a moment before looking up.

"I'm Officer Darius Potter," he says. "I'll be writing the report on this case. I need to ask you some questions that you'll hear later, from the polygraph examiner. Are you ready?"

I take a deep breath and nod. "Ready."

Officer Potter smiles at me. "Okay. Most of these you will be able to answer 'yes' or 'no.' Here goes."

"Do you know Gale Hawthorne?" "Yes."

"Are you friends with Gale Hawthorne?" "No."

"Have you ever been in a fight, argument, or altercation with Gale Hawthorne?" "No."

"Have you ever been to the Hob?" "No."

"Other than Gale Hawthorne, do you know any other members of the Hawthorne family?" "No."

"Was there an incident in the Justice Building yesterday where Hazelle Hawthorne confronted you?" "Yes."

"Did Hazelle Hawthorne accuse you of bribing Gale Hawthorne to volunteer for you at yesterday's Reaping?" "No."

"Did you offer Gale Hawthorne money in exchange for his promise to volunteer for you at the Reaping, should your name be the one drawn?" "No."

"Did you pay Gale Hawthorne to volunteer for you at yesterday's Reaping?" "No."

"Do you know why Gale Hawthorne volunteered to take your place as District Twelve Male Tribute at yesterday's Reaping." I hesitate slightly before answering. "Yes."

Officer Potter stops typing on his computer for a moment, then looks up and smiles. Unlike Breccia's unpleasant, cruel smile, his is open and sincerely friendly. "Okay, those are the questions the examiner will be asking you. He won't be privy to your answers until after the test is completed. Just make sure that you answer the same way with him."

I feel myself relax a little. "Okay."

"Don't get too comfortable," he says. "I have some more questions to ask, but with these you can embellish your answers a bit. They're not yes or no questions."

"Go ahead," I say calmly.

"It was reported that Gale Hawthorne was seen at the service entrance to the bakery yesterday morning at dawn," Officer Potter says. "Why was he there?"

I hesitate for a moment before answering.  _How do the Peacekeepers know that Gale was at the bakery yesterday morning?_  "He was there to...to do business with my father."

"What kind of business?"

"He wanted to trade something for some bread."

Officer Potter looks at me sharply. "What was he trading?"

I knew that poaching was a serious offense, punishable by death - not for killing an animal, but for possession of a weapon capable of killing an animal. My father had sung the praises of both Gale and Katniss numerous times on their expertise with bow and arrow. Still, they both  _were_ , at this very moment, in the Capitol to participate in the Hunger Games. Somehow, I doubted that anyone would arrest them now.

"Gale had a squirrel that he killed," I reply.

"I see." Officer Potter types, then looks up at me. "Were you left alone with him at any time yesterday morning?"

"For a minute or two, yes," I reply.

"Did you speak to Gale Hawthorne during this time?"

"Yes. I said hello."

Officer Potter smiles a little at this before continuing. "You said that you weren't friends with Gale Hawthorne. Are you friends with Katniss Everdeen?"

The question takes me by surprise. "No. No, I'm not."

Officer Potter lays a clipboard on the table. "Yet, the Visitor's Log from yesterday shows that you visited them both, following the Reaping. Why?"

I answer slowly. "My father has a tradition that he started when he was my age, of making it a point to visit both Reaped Tributes and give them each a small package of cookies. He started it after one Reaping where both kids were from the Community Home, and no one came to see them afterward. He decided then and there that every Tribute from District Twelve would see at least one friendly face before getting on the train to the Capitol."

"And yesterday, you performed this duty?"

"I asked my father if I could. He said yes."

"And was it during this time that Gale Hawthorne revealed why he volunteered for you?"

"Yes. He and Katniss are best friends. He did it to protect her during the Games - and to give her the best chance at winning and coming home."

Officer Potter regards me intently for a moment, then places a small recorder on the table and presses a button on the side.

_"I need to ask you something."_ My voice says from the recorder. I look at Officer Potter in shock.

_"Why?"_ Gale's voice says _. "You of all people should know the answer to that one."_

_"What's that supposed to mean?"_  I hear myself ask.

Gale laughs.  _"Come off it, Mellark. You'd have to be half blind not to see how you moon after her."_

_"See?"_  Gale's voice says.  _"Look at you. Beet red."_

_"So why should I know the answer to why?"_ My voice asks.

_"You,"_ My voice almost whispers. _"You...love her? Too?"_

I hear Gale sigh heavily.  _"Pathetic, ain't it? And to answer your next question...no, she has no idea, and no, I'm not telling her."_

Officer Potter presses the button again and the recording stops. "I guess that answers the question of 'why' pretty neatly."

I can feel my embarrassment creeping over me again...plus a chill when I wondered exactly how much of our "private" conversations were really "private."

Officer Potter seems to be reading my mind with his next statement. "All government buildings are monitored for audio, visual, or a combination of audio and visual. Here, the Justice Building, the Capitol Liaison offices, Mine Management, the train station, and the homes in Victor's Village are all monitored." He pauses and smiles. "Don't worry. I'm the only person here to have listened to the digital recordings made yesterday, and I will destroy them once the investigation is finished."

I don't know what to say. Peacekeepers have never been known for their...well, humanity. Yet, this young Peacekeeper with the bright red hair was treating me decently, even compassionately.

"Thank you," I finally say softly.

Officer Potter actually looks a little embarrassed, but recovers quickly. "Well. We're done here. I've sent the questions to the polygraph examiner. Come with me." He stands up and I follow suit. "The examination is done in a different part of the building."

I follow the Peacekeeper out of the small interview room and down a long hallway. One question rises up in my mind as we walk.

"Officer Potter," I say quietly. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead," the Peacekeeper replies.

"You said that all government buildings are monitored. Does that include the interview room that we just left?"

The Peacekeeper chuckles at this. "Yes, but, as there was nothing said that I haven't already added to the official report, those recordings will be destroyed as well."

"Thank you," I say, relief washing over me. A moment later we stop in front of a new door.

"Here we are," Officer Potter says, as he opens the door, beckoning me inside. As I step into the room I see a chair, a table with an open notebook style computer, and a stool. A woman in her late twenties is sitting on the stool. She rises up when I walk in.

"Hello, Darius," she says with a smile. "Is this our examinee?" I notice with surprise that she's not wearing a Peacekeeper's uniform.

"Yes," the Peacekeeper replies. "Peeta Mellark, this is Miss Maxwell. She'll administer the test."

"Hello, Peeta," the woman says warmly. She turns to Officer Potter. "I don't think I'll have any trouble with him. He doesn't appear to be quite the trouble-maker that Bellatrix painted him as."

"Officer Breccia views him with a somewhat different...perspective than I do," he says with another smile.

"Well, this won't take long," she says. "I'll call you when we're done, Darius." The Peacekeeper nods once and slips through the door, closing it behind him.

Miss Maxwell turns to me. "Please have a seat," she says, indicating the chair. I ease myself into the chair as the woman examines something on her computer screen, then comes around the table to stand next to the chair.

"Please insert your left hand into the slot," she says, indicating a flat, rectangular shape near my left hand. I notice that it's attached to the arm of the chair. Carefully, I insert my left hand into the slot and I see a light flash yellow on the top of the shape.

"Good," she says with a smile. "Just relax. This won't hurt."

"Yes, ma'am," I say, trying to relax. As she returns to her stool my curiosity finally gets the better of me. "You - you're not a Peacekeeper?"

"No," she says. "I work for the Ministry of Security as a computer technician, specializing in polygraphy. I'm originally from District Three." She examines her computer screen for a moment, then looks up.

"Peeta," she explains, "I'm going to ask you a series of what we call control questions...your name, age, home district, that sort of thing. Now, on some of the questions, I'll want you to lie - deliberately?"

I look at her in confusion. "Ma'am?"

"It's to establish control," she explains further. "When you lie, your body reacts in a certain way. This will register on my computer screen. Similarly, your reactions when you tell the truth will also register. This will make it easier for me to prepare my final report. Did you notice the lights?"

"Yes, ma'am," I reply.

"The light is yellow now," she says. "Truthful replies will cause the green light to illuminate. Deceptive replies will cause the red light to illuminate."

"I see," I reply. "Thank you."

"Just remember to answer each question with a simple 'yes' or 'no.' The computer can and will register all answers, but we get the best results with the simplest responses." She gives me a reassuring smile. "Alright. Let's get started. Is your name Peeta Mellark?"

**PART III**

An hour later, I'm standing before Commander Cray, the Head Peacekeeper for District Twelve. Also present are Peacekeepers Breccia and Potter, and the polygraphist, Miss Maxwell.

Cray is angry - no, furious - but at this very moment his anger is not directed towards me. Instead, he's focused on the two Peacekeepers and the computer technician standing before his desk.

Cray tosses the sheaf of papers that he's been holding down on his desk. "'Inconclusive?'" he snaps, pointing at the paper on his desk. "How can a computer polygraph and voice stress analysis be 'inconclusive?'"

"Sir, this science is nearly foolproof," Miss Maxwell explains. "However, studies have shown that anywhere from two to five percent of the population is resistant to this type of interrogation."

"Resistant?" Cray snaps, swiveling his head towards me. "So you resisted, boy?" Cray snarls. This is the closest I've ever been to the Head Peacekeeper. His iron-gray hair is thinning and slightly disheveled, his nose bulbous and crisscrossed with a network of tiny red veins. Even from two meters, the odor of white liquor hangs heavily in the air around him.

"No, sir," I blurt. "I mean, I didn't resist!"

"Commander," Miss Maxwell explains, "Subjects that are naturally resistant don't actively resist. It's their physiological make-up that resists. There were no discernable physiological changes during my interview with him. It was as if he wasn't being questioned at all."

"Hmmph," Cray grunts, picking up the pile of papers once again. He peers up at Officer Potter. "According to your report, you could find no evidence of wrongdoing on Mellark's part?"

"No, sir," Potter replies. "Apparently, Gale Hawthorne had a legitimate reason for his early morning visit to the bakery, and Peeta Mellark had a legitimate reason for visiting Gale Hawthorne after the Reaping."

"A view that I do not share, Commander," Breccia interjects. "There is strong circumstantial evidence that Peeta Mellark did exactly what he's been accused of. By his own admission, he was not, and is not, friends with Gale Hawthorne...yet he had personal interaction with him not once, but twice yesterday."

"Thank you, Bella," Cray says. "I've read your supplemental report. However -" Cray picks up another paper from the stack "- I have a sworn deposition from one Hazelle Hawthorne that states that she was not aware of any payment being made to her son prior to the Reaping."

"She's obviously lying, Commander," Breccia states smugly. "She knows that we would confiscate any bribe money as evidence. You can't trust any of these lower district scum...none of them are capable of telling the truth if their very lives depended on it!"

I can feel myself bristling at her accusations, and I'm opening my mouth to say something about it when Officer Potter beats me to it.

"Stay silent, Mellark, unless spoken to!" he barks, causing me to look at him sharply. As I do, I see that his command wasn't a rebuke...it was a warning. He shakes his head once, barely perceptible to anyone not watching closely.

"All of you...shut up," Cray says tiredly as he reads through a section of the report, then grabs a pen and scribbles something on the last page, then signs the report and looks up a me.

"Alright," he says, tossing the pen down. "Part of my duties as Head Peacekeeper of District Twelve is the administration of Low and Medium Justice." He looks at me. "Peeta Mellark, as the accused, you may call others to speak in your defense, and you have the right to make a statement in your own behalf. Do you wish to do either?"

"Sir," I say slowly, deliberately, "the only one that could speak for me is in the Capitol, and the only statement that I wish to make is that I didn't pay anyone to volunteer for me yesterday."

"Very well," Cray says tiredly. "This report -" he picks up the sheaf of papers "- I'm officially classifying as 'Suspended' due to insufficient evidence to support either full guilt or innocence. However, boy, there is strong circumstantial evidence that causes me to suspect your version of yesterday's events regarding your interaction with Gale Hawthorne. So, here's my decision."

Cray pauses for a moment. "Peeta Mellark, you are free to go.  _However_  -" Cray fixes me with a stern gaze "- I am revoking your exclusion from next years' Reaping. You will be entered along with every other person of Reaping age here in District Twelve. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," I say flatly, fighting to keep emotion from my voice.

"Alright, then. Get outta my sight. Darius, escort Mellark home," Cray barks.

"Yes, sir," Potter says, grasping me firmly by the arm and hustling me out of the Peacekeepers Headquarters as quickly as he could.

Once we were outside and walking briskly back to the bakery, I address Officer Potter for the first time. "I want to thank you," I say quietly.

"Not necessary," he says sourly. "The polygraph should have determined your innocence conclusively. Now the only way that your innocence can be proven is if Gale Hawthorne is the Victor and returns to Twelve!"

_Which means Katniss would be dead_ , I say to myself as a chill runs up my spine.

"By the way," he adds, "when we're alone like this, you can call me Darius." He pauses for a moment, then adds, "I like her, too. Katniss, I mean. And I like Gale."

"I just thought of something, Darius," I say. "Cray's gonna find out about Gale and Katniss hunting. Won't he have to do something about it?"

Darius laughs. "Katniss and Gale sell most of their kills to us," he says. "Rooba's butcher shop always sells out too quickly, and she's overpriced, anyway."

I glance at Darius in surprise. I knew that Peacekeepers frequented the Hob, but it had never occurred to me that they would be buying Katniss and Gale's kills.

"Here we are," Darius says as we approach the bakery's service entrance. "Remember, Mandatory Viewing tonight. It's the Tribute Parade." He pauses for a moment before continuing. "Peeta...you may want to watch at home instead of the big screens at the Square. Let things die down a bit. People will forget this rumor soon enough."

I murmur my thanks to him and say goodbye. As he leaves, I happen to glance back from my position on the top step of the service entrance - the exact same place that Gale Hawthorne had been standing yesterday morning - and freeze.

I'm looking at the back of a house, not twenty meters away. A Merchant home, I recognize it immediately - as I also recognize the window that directly faces the service entrance. I know exactly who lives in that house...and what room that window looks in on.

It's the Donner house - and the window looks in on Udo Donner's bedroom.

**PART IV**

We're sitting in our small living room, watching the Tribute Parade, as we do every year. Only this year, my oldest brother is missing. He's watching it in the Square with his new wife.

My father was understandably ecstatic about the lack of charges against me, although he was upset by Cray's decision to revoke my exclusion at next years' Games. Predictably, my mother seemed indifferent, although she did remark that it was stupid of them to think that I would have had enough money to bribe Gale Hawthorne in the first place.

I can feel my heart pounding as the parade starts. I've been watching the Games as long as I can remember, of course, and, as I got older, knew several of the District Twelve Tributes. But I've never, until this year, been in love with one of them.

_Don't start crying,_  I say to myself. The last thing I need right now is Poppa's sympathy, my mothers' scorn for getting all emotional over "useless Seam trash," and my brother Quinn's innuendo-laden jokes.

Instead, I concentrate on each chariot as it emerges onto the Avenue of Tributes and makes its way down to City Circle, directly in front of the Presidential Palace. For the most part, the Parade is indistinguishable from every other Parade that I've had to watch. Districts One and Two are in the lead, the Tributes from those districts looking confident and eager for the Games to start - especially the huge boy in the District Two chariot. There's a cruel glint in his eyes that even the Holo-TV manages to capture.

After One and Two, all of the other chariots look, for the most part, the same as they always look. Aside from the girl from Four, every Tribute has the same glazed, frightened look on their faces - at least until the chariot from Eleven comes into view.

The first thing we all notice is the boy Tribute - although "boy" is misleading. He's  _huge_ , bigger even than the boy from Two - and his face never cracks a smile once. He glowers at the cheering crowd, his dark face looking menacing in the early evening light. His partner, though, elicits a strong reaction of her own.

She's  _tiny_ , and no more than twelve years old. A crazy thought crosses my mind as I watch her and her partner closing in on City Circle -  _If Primrose Everdeen had ended up going, she would have had at least one ally._  The mood in our house was somber. No one, not even my mother, likes to see a twelve year old get Reaped.

Our attention is quickly diverted from the District Eleven chariot by the excited commentary of Claudius Templesmith, the long time "voice" of the Hunger Games, as the District Twelve chariot begins to emerge onto the Avenue of Tributes.

"What's he getting so worked up about?" Quinn asks. "It's just District Twelve. They'll have them in some stupid coal miner's cost -"

"Snow's Roses," my father breathes, earning a sharp look from my mother at his use of what many loyalists consider to be a "disloyal" curse, "Will you look at  _that_!"

The chariot is now trundling down the Avenue of Tributes, the crowd is roaring so loud that my father is forced to turn the volume down on the Holo-TV, and Katniss, along with Gale...is on  _fire_.

The cameras quickly zoom in on Katniss and Gale, standing shoulder to shoulder, hands clasped tightly together and raised up in a show of solidarity that I don't think I've ever seen from a pair of Tributes. They're dressed head to toe in skin-tight black outfits, that simultaneous conceal, yet accentuate, every line of their bodies. And  _fire_...real  _fire_...appears to be streaming off their backs.

I suddenly feel a familiar tightening in my groin as I stare at the image projected before me. Katniss looks aloof, powerful...and, probably without realizing it, incredibly sexual. I shift a little on the chair, trying to ease the tension that I suddenly feel without being too obvious.

Quinn, however, doesn't mind being obvious. "Holy shit!" he exclaims. "That's Katniss  _Everdeen?_   She looks...she looks..."

"Shut up, Quinn!" I snap, shooting him a dirty look.

" _Hot_ ," Quinn finishes, smiling smugly at me even as my mother rebukes him for his language - and for his lewd comments about  _that lowly Seam trash_.

I try to ignore my family and instead concentrate on the Parade. There's a close-up of Gale now, and I can clearly see a bruise on the side of his jaw.  _Has he been fighting? Already?_  Somehow, that doesn't surprise me one bit. Gale has always been known for his quick temper. The thought of him fighting with another Tribute before the Parade makes me smile to myself.  _You show 'em, Gale! This year, Twelve's not just some pathetic pushovers!_

Katniss and Gale are now totally feeding into the crowd's fervor - both are smiling and waving at the mass of screaming people. They're both being liberally pelted with roses...dozens, even hundreds of roses are flung in their direction. As I watch, I see Katniss deftly catch one, kiss the flower, and throw it back into the crowd. She repeats this several times over and even Gale performs the same trick a couple of times.

I can feel my heart sinking as I watch them, my mind a confusion of conflicting emotions.  _That should have been me there instead of Gale,_  I say to myself as a feeling of guilt washes over me. Another, more visceral feeling grips me.  _That would have been my only chance to get close to Katniss, before she...she..._

Finally, the Parade is over. The chariots are assembled in City Circle as President Snow gives his usual welcoming speech, and afterwards the chariots, one by one, trundle off towards the Tribute Center. The screen slowly fades to black, and the Seal of Panem slowly materializes on the screen. A woman's voice begins to speak in a soothing, pleasant tone.

"Thank you for watching the Tribute Parade for the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games. Your viewing has been recorded and credit assigned to all family members present. As a reminder, the next scheduled Mandatory Viewing will take place in four days, when the Tribute training scores are announced. Have a pleasant evening."

Poppa shuts the Holo-TV off and quickly lights an oil lamp and a candle. Seconds after the candle flares to life, our lights go off.

"That's it for our electricity for tonight," he sighs, then turns to Quinn and I. "You boys need to get ready for bed. I'll need you both first thing tomorrow morning."

"Yes, Poppa," we both echo as we light a lamp of our own, then trudge off to our bedroom.

Quinn, as usual, falls to sleep immediately. I lay on my back, staring into the darkness. Today has been nothing but stress...from the Peacekeepers, to the polygraph, to my release, and finally to Mandatory Viewing and seeing Katniss looking...looking...

I sigh in frustration and desperately try to think of something... _anything_...other than how incredible Katniss looked in that black, skin-tight outfit. No use. It's too late. I feel my groin tightening again. I try to ignore it but it's just too insistent.

Carefully I turn on my side, freezing for a moment as my ancient bed springs squeal in protest. My brother continues to snore on. After that, I'm careful to be quiet, only groaning twice - once in shame from the thoughts that I'm having about Katniss...and once in pleasure as my body shudders in release. Afterwards, I roll onto my back again and stare up into the darkness once more. Finally, I feel drowsy, my eyes growing heavy. Just before sleep comes, I have one final thought.

_I wonder if Gale told Katniss that he loves her._

**PART V**

The next few days passes fairly uneventfully. With school being out, I'm put to work in the bakery all day, along with Quinn, who's officially out of school now, and Alec, my oldest brother. With all three of us working, along with my father (my mother really doesn't count as all she will do is work the front and make sales), it becomes very clear that there just isn't enough work for all of us...especially since business seems to be a little slower than usual.

On the afternoon of the day before the next Mandatory Viewing, Poppa tells me to knock off work early. Of course, my brothers both protested loudly, but Poppa simply pointed out that I would be going back to school the week after next while they were both out of school, and are therefore expected to devote all of their time to the family business.

It was a beautiful summer day. On a whim, I decide to walk over to the shoe shop and see Delly Cartwright. I hadn't seen her since the night of the Reaping, when she had come over to warn me about the rumor. Delly and I have been friends literally our entire lives - in fact, I consider her to be my best friend.

The Square is pretty much empty this time of day, with most of the district workforce laboring in the mines. The shoe shop is on the other side of the Square from the bakery. It just takes me a couple of minutes to walk over.

I pull the door open, hearing the bell above the door tinkling softly, and Delly's voice immediately coming from the back of the shop, in the area where her father and grandfather worked, making and repairing shoes.

"Be with you in just a minute!"

I smile as I just stand in the shop, inhaling the rich aroma of shoe leather and polishing wax. Next to the bakery, these are the smells that I like the best. For a brief instant, all my worries vanish...about Katniss and the Games, about the ugly rumors surrounding me, about the nagging guilt that I feel from Gale volunteering for me.

Delly enters the front and stops when she sees me. "Oh! Peeta! Hi!" I notice that she's not smiling which is definitely out of character for her, and she suddenly seems tense.

_She definitely does not look happy to see me._

I force a smile. "Hey, Delly," I say. "My father gave me the rest of the day off, so I thought I'd see what you were up to."

"Oh," she says quietly. "That was...nice of him." She suddenly steps forward and takes my hand. "Come on around back before some- Before my father and grandfather get back. They're picking up freight at the train station." She explains lamely, then adds, "We can talk there."

_Delly, why do I get the distinct impression that you aren't happy to see me?_  I say to myself.

Delly practically drags me into the rooms in the back of the shop. I can see that she's been cleaning up and organizing the two work benches back here. Delly grabs a stool and sets it in front of me, then grabs a second stool of her own.

We sit. "So...how have you been?" She asks awkwardly. She shifts uncomfortably and glances around, as if she was afraid that someone was going to walk in on us.

"Fine," I reply with a touch of sarcasm in my voice. "I was Reaped, Gale Hawthorne volunteered for me, and then someone started a rumor that I paid him to take my place, and I was dragged down to Peacekeeper Headquarters, hooked up to a computer, and interrogated. Other than that, oh, nothing new."

Delly looks stricken. "I'm sorry, Peeta. I've been a rotten friend to you."

I wasn't about to let up, though. "You were afraid that someone might see me in the shop, weren't you?"

Delly stares down at the floor, suddenly fascinated by a speck of something that she sees there. "Yes," she replies in a small voice.

"It's that fucking rumor," I spit, feeling my hands clench into fists. "I thought it was just me! People come into the bakery and they barely talk to me, or look at me... _if_  they come in at all! My father says business is down a bit. Well, now I can guess why!"

Delly says nothing, just sits with her head down, staring at the floor. Finally, in a small voice she says, "You have every right to be angry."

I stand abruptly. "I should go. I don't want someone to see me here. It might hurt your families' business."

Delly leaps to her feet. "No! I mean...Peeta - stay. Please. I am sorry. You have to believe that."

I slowly relax and slump back onto the stool. "And I did nothing wrong. You have to believe that."

"I do!" She exclaims. "I never believed it for a minute. Anyone that knows you knows that you would never do something like that!"

I force a smile. "So you and Madge are on my side?"

"And others," she say firmly, naming a half-dozen other Merchant kids, some of our teachers, and my wrestling coach.

"Not a lot of overwhelming support," I say ruefully, then add, "Although I seem to have a Peacekeeper on my side."

"Really?" Delly replies in surprise. "Who?"

"The young red-headed Peacekeeper. Potter. Darius Potter. He was the one that wrote the report. Delly, even Cray doesn't think I did anything wrong! If he did, he would have convicted me on the rumor alone!"

"I heard that your polygraph was inconclusive," Delly says.

"Where did you hear that from?" I snap. "That's supposed to be confidential! At least that's what Darius told me!"

"It came from the same person that started the rumor," Delly says. "I did a little digging of my own. He's getting a big kick out of talking shit about you."

"Udo Donner," I whisper. Delly looks at me and nods solemnly.

The sweet shop is four doors down. I leap to my feet. "Time to shut him up once and for all." I spin and stalk out of the shop with Delly hot on my heels, begging me to not do anything stupid.

I've already done something stupid. I've let this go on far too long.

* * *

I push the door of the sweet shop open, squinting a bit as my eyes adjust to the dim light inside.

"Peeta!" A voice calls out my name. I see Mrs. Donner come around from behind the counter, her eyes wide in surprise. "Uhh...can I help you with something?"

"Hello, Mrs. Donner," I say sweetly. "I was just looking for Udo. Is he around?"

Her eyes flicker almost imperceptibly towards the rear of the shop before she replies. "Uhh, no. No, he's not here."

"I see," I say with a smile. "Well, sorry to have bothered you. Have a nice day."

"You...you too," Mrs. Donner says as I turn to leave.

I walk out of the sweet shop, Delly still close behind. "Thank goodness he wasn't there! Peeta, you need to calm down. This won't solve anything! Just go on home and -"

"Bullshit, Delly!" I snap, quickly walking around the side of the building. "He was there. His mommy was protecting him!" I turn the corner, coming around to the rear of the building - just in time to see the back door of the sweet shop open and Udo Donner slip out the door.

I'm on him before he even realizes that I'm there. He turns to run but I'm too fast, grabbing him by his shirt collar. All the while, Delly is begging me not to hurt him and to "Let him go, Peeta! Please let him go!"

"Come on, Donner," I say as I drag him around to the front of the building, and into the Square, with Udo protesting the entire way.

"Now," I say softly, my face inches from his, "You are gonna yell 'I'm a liar and I lied about Peeta Mellark' as loudly as you can, and you're gonna keep yelling it until I tell you to stop. Got it?"

I can see the fear in his eyes, even as he says, "Fuck you, Mellark."

Delly is still begging me to stop. From behind me I hear his mother yell, "I'm calling the Peacekeepers!"

"One more chance, Udo," I say. "Otherwise things will get ugly."

"Fuck you," he repeats, then, "I'm really gonna get a kick outta watching Everdeen die, just knowing that you'll be crying like a little baby."

After that, it was difficult for Udo to talk...and, in the coming weeks, it would be difficult for him to eat, missing the teeth that he lost and all.

**PART VI**

I lay face-down on the living room floor, wincing in pain as Mrs. Everdeen gently applies a soothing poultice to the whip marks on my back. I flinch involuntarily, groaning slightly as she works.

"Hold still," she says firmly. Her fingers probe gently. I groan again. "Prim, hand me the dressings, please."

"Here you go, Mom," Primrose Everdeen says. I groan again as Mrs. Everdeen gently lays the strips of cloth over the whip marks.

"Not too bad at all," she remarks professionally. "Only cut in a few places. Mostly severe welting. I doubt if you'll even scar too badly. Whoever was using the whip has a pretty light hand."

_Darius,_  I say to myself. Cray's punishment was swift. Five lashes for "Brawling in Public." Personally, I think he wanted to make an example out of me and send a message to the rest of the district. It's my good fortune that he assigned Darius Potter to administer the lashing.

"Raise up a bit," Mrs. Everdeen says. I push myself up onto my elbows, wincing again as I put pressure on my right hand - the one I used to beat Udo Donner down with - and hold myself still as Mrs. Everdeen and Primrose quickly wrap a bandage around me.

"Okay, you can relax," Mrs. Everdeen says, standing up. "You'll be sleeping on your stomach for a while, but, like I said, the lash hardly cut you. Come see me in a couple of days and I'll change your dressings - sooner if you start to bleed through them. Leave that bandage in place...that's what's holding the dressings on your back. You'll itch and be miserable, but try not to scratch just the same."

"Thanks again for coming, Una," my father says. "I'm sorry to have had to call you when your daughter...I mean to say, because I know you have other things on your mind."

My brothers help me to my feet. Mrs. Everdeen glances over at me, the ghost of a smile on her lips. "It's alright, Liam. I'd rather be busy, anyway. Takes my mind off of...things."

"Well, then," my father says. "Would you like coin or trade?"

Mrs. Everdeen smiles. "Some of your bread sounds very nice." Poppa smiles and hands her a mesh bag, bulging with different kinds of breads.

"Will this do?" He asks. Mrs. Everdeen takes the bag and hefts it appreciatively.

"This is more than generous," she says. "Thank you."

Poppa also slips her a small draw-string pouch. I can hear coins jingling inside. "And this is for how my wife treated you when you first came over. I'm sorry," he says quietly.

"Thank you," Mrs. Everdeen says. "But unnecessary. We've never gotten along, you know."

"Take it, please," Poppa says, a note of pleading in his voice.

Mrs. Everdeen looks like she wants to say something more, then turns quickly towards Primrose. "We need to be going. Come along, Prim. Peeta, I'll see you in two days."

"Yes, ma'am," I say. Goodbyes are exchanged and the Everdeens quickly leave. Poppa turns back toward us after they leave.

"Alec, Quinn. Back to work. Peeta, you -" he hesitates for a moment, then continues. "- you just...take it easy in here. Your brothers and I need to go clean up the bakery and close up. We'll see you in a bit for dinner."

"Yes, Poppa," I reply. I watch them leave then I slowly lower myself back down onto the floor.  _I got whipped, my back is on fire, and my hand is sore! Was it worth it?_  I smile a bit to myself.  _Yes, it was._

Something else crosses my mind and I suddenly raise my head up. I'm supposed to see Mrs. Everdeen in two days to get my dressings changed.

The Games start in two days.

* * *

Mandatory viewing again. Tonight, they announce the Training Scores.

Mother has been sullen all evening, remarking once at how long it will take before she can get the "Seam stench" out of her house. And, for the first time that I can remember, I hear my father yell - actually yell - at my mother.

I don't know who was more shocked - her, or my brothers and I.

Regardless, she's been quiet all evening. We all watch Claudius Templesmith announce the scores of each Tribute. They announce by district, boys first, then girls. A Training Center picture of each Tribute flashes on the Holo-TV as Claudius Templesmith solemnly announces each score.

The Tributes from Districts One and Two all pull high scores...nothing lower than an Eight, with the huge boy from Two pulling a Ten. No surprise there...those districts are known as "Career" districts. According to rumor, these districts actually run a training program for Tributes. It's supposed to be against the rules, but the Career districts - One, Two, and Four - all suck up to the Capitol, so the government turns a blind eye towards their training. During the Reaping, these Careers will volunteer for their districts. The three Career districts have more Victors than the other nine districts combined.

What was surprising was the boy from Four only getting a Five, although the girl got an Eight. Four is a Career district as well. Quinn makes some comment about how the boy must have pissed someone off, to not have a Career volunteer for him during the Reaping.

I could care less. I was only interested in one score - Katniss Everdeen's.

The rest of the scores were mediocre at best, with Five being the average score...a least until Claudius got to District Eleven. Eleven was a poor district like Twelve, and their Tributes rarely got decent scores. They only have two Victors in the last seventy-three years. But this year seemed to be the year of change. The huge, sullen boy is awarded a Nine, and the tiny twelve year old girl gets a Seven - both Career or near-Career scores.

_That little girl would have been a good ally for Primrose_ , I say to myself.

"And now," Claudius Templesmith says, "For District Twelve. First, Gale Hawthorne -" his picture pops up "- with a training score of...Nine."

Nine. Career range. Maybe he can pull it off, after all. Behind me I can hear my father and brothers applauding.

"And now," Claudius intones, "Katniss Everdeen of District Twelve, with a score of...Eleven."

Dead silence. Eleven. Only a handful of Tributes in the history of the Games have even received a score of Eleven. Two things go through my mind after hearing Katniss's score.

_With Gale's Nine and her Eleven, they'll be an unstoppable alliance._

_That score just painted a HUGE target on her back. She'll be lucky to survive the bloodbath!_

I'm living proof that it's possible to feel giddy elation and be scared to death at the same time.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

**PART I**

Mandatory viewing. The Tribute Interviews.

I shift uncomfortably on the living room floor. Under the dressings, the welts and cuts from my flogging are itching so bad that at times I think I will go insane. My father is busy punching in the viewership codes on the Holo-TV so we all get credit for watching the interviews. As if I would miss them.

My mother has returned to her usual form today, railing on and on about her son, her own flesh and blood, being flogged like "common Seam trash." It's nice to know that some things really don't ever change.

I yawn in spite of myself. I didn't get much sleep last night. I was making so much noise that I finally got up and spent the rest of the night laying on the living room floor, about where I am now.  _Stay awake,_  I tell myself.

Last night, as I lay on the floor trying to sleep, I couldn't help but wonder how Katniss... _and_  Gale...were sleeping, if at all. I tried to imagine myself there, in the Training Center -  _where I rightfully should be_ , I tell myself...self-guilt is a terrible thing - and wonder how they simply manage to cope with the incredible pressures that they must be under.

The projected image from the Holo-TV wavers a bit, steadies, then the familiar face of Caesar Flickerman comes in to view. If Claudius Templesmith is the "Voice of the Hunger Games," then Caesar Flickerman is the "Face." He's done the Tribute Interviews as far back as I can remember, and later on will provide color commentary during the Games itself, along with announcer Claudius Templesmith.

Right now, he's engaging his City Center audience with what's called his "monologue" - mostly bad jokes about the various districts. Predictably, there are no jokes about either the Capitol or President Snow...and surprisingly, none about District Twelve. Twelve has been one of Flickerman's biggest targets over the years. I guess he doesn't find Career-level training scores worth joking about.

I perk up and start listening in earnest when the first few bars of the National Anthem of Panem is played. Caesar Flickerman sits up in his chair and ponderously announces, "And now, the moment that all Panem has been waiting for - the Tribute Interviews!" The City Center audience erupts in a frenzy that gradually dies down as Caesar introduces the first Tribute to be interviewed - the District One girl, Glimmer.

Caesar stands, leading the audience in applause as a beautiful, smiling blonde girl emerges from behind the curtain. She's dressed in a shimmering, gauzy gold gown, completely see-through except for a few strategically placed bits of gold cloth. This girl simply oozes sex.

Her interview is predicable. She's very prepared, she's ready for whatever challenges await her, and she'll use all of her "assets" to win. This prompts a huge reaction from the audience, and lewd remarks from my brother.

Her district partner was a tall, somewhat skinny kid named Marvel. My attention was diverted for a moment as my mother was yelling at Quinn at that moment for some parting remarks he had made about Glimmer's revealing dress. Marvel didn't strike me as a "typical" Career Tribute - he spent most of his interview cracking jokes with Caesar Flickerman, although he did manage to come across as confident.

The District Two Tributes projected nothing but menace during their interviews. Clove, the girl, is short, somewhat stocky and well muscled, and somehow, in her three minute interview, manages to come across simultaneously as sweet, arrogant, and sarcastic. Cato, the boy, is tall, just a shade shorter than Marvel, but his broad shoulders and massive arms show him to be a physically powerful Tribute. He's obviously eager for the Games to begin.

The other Tributes are, for the most part, unremarkable - except for three. The first one, a redheaded girl from District Five that Caesar addresses as Finch, is clearly one of the most intelligent Tributes in these Games. In her interview she projected a calm serenity and gave the most thoughtful responses to Caesar's questions, while at the same time managing to be somewhat elusive.

The other Tributes that made an impression on me were the pair from District Eleven, Thresh and Rue. Thresh was clearly the biggest Tribute of these Games - and the most intimidating. Scowling, uncommunicative, and answering questions with one or two word responses, he would clearly be a force in these Games. His district partner, on the other hand, was easily the smallest - and youngest - Tribute in these Games. Little Rue was twelve and - well, the only description that really fit her was "bird-like." And, unlike Thresh, she was friendly, open, and had an easy giggle that Caesar was able to coax out of her several times during her three minutes.

I hope she makes it out of the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. The life expectancy of most twelve year olds in the Games is normally measured in minutes.

But now, as Rue is being ushered off the stage, a hush descends on the Mellark household. District Twelve is next, and I will see - and hear - Katniss Everdeen for the first time since the Tribute parade.

**PART II**

"You all know her as the Girl on Fire," Caesar Flickerman is saying, "Ladies and gentlemen, from District Twelve...Katniss Everdeen!"

The crowd roars as Katniss takes the stage. My parents, my brother, and I all gasp in unison as she appears, dressed in what appear to be moving flames. Her stylist, a first year designer by the name of Cinna, has really outdone himself. Katniss is...stunning, radiant - beautiful. And scared to death.

She walks onto the stage and quickly shakes Caesar Flickerman's hand, then sits down.

Caesar, knowing that each Tribute is only allotted three minutes, quickly begins the interview. Surprisingly, Katniss is the one to speak first.

"You know," she says in a soft voice, "There were two of us on fire in that chariot. Not just me."

Caesar, so used to controlled the tempo and subject of the interviews, is visibly taken aback by Katniss's comment...but quickly recovers and just as quickly takes charge again.

"We'll get to your costume in just a moment," he says with a smile before continuing with, "So, Katniss, the Capitol must be quite a change from District Twelve. What's impressed you the most since you arrived here?"

Katniss looks confused by the question. It's obvious that she wanted the interview to go in another direction. I see her eyes flicker over the crowd. She then draws a deep breath and replies, "The lamb stew."

_What?_  Caesar and the audience laugh.  _Lamb stew?_

Caesar quickly recovers and asks, "The one with the dried plums?" Katniss nods. "Oh, I eat it by the bucketful!" He stands and turns sideways to the audience, hands over his belly, a horrified look on his face. "It doesn't show, does it?"

As the audience applauds and shouts out reassurances that he is as fit and trim as he ever was, Caesar sits back down and faces Katniss again.

"Now, Katniss," he says, as though he's talking to an old friend, rather than a Tribute that will be soon fighting for her life, "Regarding your earlier comment. When you came out in the opening ceremonies, my heart actually stopped. What did you think of that costume?"

Katniss pauses for a moment before replying frankly, "You mean after I got over my fear of us being burned alive?"

Another big laugh from the audience - but this time, I got the sense that they were laughing  _with_  her, rather than  _at_ her.

"Yes," Caesar says. "Start then."

Another pause from Katniss before she replies. "I thought Cinna was brilliant and it was the most gorgeous costume that I'd ever seen and I couldn't believe I was wearing it. I can't believe I'm wearing this, either." She lifts up her skirt and spreads it out. "I mean, look at it!"

Katniss then does something very un-Katniss like. She stands and twirls around as the audience makes  _ooh_ and  _ahh_  sounds.

"Oh, do that again!" Caesar says. Katniss lifts up her arms and begins to twirl around and around, the dress seemingly engulfed in flame as she does so. The audience is cheering wildly as Katniss spins. Suddenly she abruptly stops and clutches at Caesar's arm.

"Don't stop!" he implores her.

"I have to!" Katniss says, giggling. "I'm dizzy!"

Katniss Everdeen -  _giggling_? I've barely ever seen her crack a smile!

Caesar wraps an arm around her shoulders and says, "Don't worry, I've got you. Can't have you following in your Mentor's footsteps." At this the cameras all pan in to Haymitch Abernathy, who grins, waves, then points back toward the stage, towards Katniss.

"It's all right," Caesar says, as he and Katniss take their seats again. "She's safe with me. So, how about that training score?  _Eleven!_  Give us a hint what happened in there!"

Katniss glances upwards at the balcony, where the Gamemakers were all seated, before replying. "Umm...all I can say is, I think it was a first."

The cameras cut to the Gamemakers, who are all chuckling and nodding in agreement.

"You're  _killing_  us!" Caesar says with a groan. "Details! Details!"

Katniss looks up at the Gamemakers balcony. "I'm not supposed to talk about it, right?"

One Gamemaker, who's identified by a scrolling insert below his face as "Plutarch Heavensbee, Assistant Head Gamemaker," shouts, "She's not!"

"Thank you," Katniss says with a sweet smile as she turns back to Caesar. "Sorry. My lips are sealed."

"Let's go back, then," Caesar says, his mood shifting as he grows quieter, more reflective, "To the moment they called your sister's name at the Reaping. And you volunteered. Can you tell us about her?"

Katniss seems to hesitate as she scans the audience, then she focuses and replies, "Her name's Prim. She's just twelve. And I love her more than anything."

Even my mother has nothing to say about that. The silence, both in our house and coming from the Holo-TV, was deafening.

"What did she say to you?" Caesar asks quietly. "After the Reaping?"

"She asked me to try really hard to win," Katniss replies in a soft voice.

"And what did you say?" Caesar asks, his voice gentle. For a moment I'm almost convinced that he actually cares about Katniss.

At this, Katniss tenses. Does she sense phoniness? Her voice drops to a lower pitch as she replies, "I swore I would."

"I bet you did," Caesar says, squeezing her hand. At that point, the buzzer goes off. Her interview is concluded. "Sorry, we're out of time," Caesar says to Katniss. "Best of luck, Katniss Everdeen, Tribute from District Twelve." Katniss rises to her feet smoothly, waves once at the crowd, and departs the stage to enthusiastic applause.

It's not over yet. It's now Gale's turn to take to the stage.

**PART III**

Gale looks resplendent in a black suit with strategic flame highlights - a perfect compliment to Katniss's "Girl on Fire" look. He strides across the stage confidently, quickly shakes Caesar's hand, then sits, calmly looking at Caesar.

"'The Coal Dust Twins,'" Caesar finally says. "That's what everyone's been calling you and Katniss. The 'Coal Dust Twins of District Twelve.' You both volunteered. And you both bear a strong resemblance to one another. Are you related?"

"Not that I know of," Gale replies. "But Twelve is a small district. I wouldn't be surprised if we were related in some way."

"Gale, I think I speak for everyone here tonight when I say how shocked we all are by Twelve's showing thus far," Caesar says. "First, the double volunteers, followed by two impressive training scores. Your score of Nine has a lot of people paying attention to you! However," Caesar says as the crowd erupts in applause, "However, I know you can't talk about your score, so let's talk about the Reaping. You volunteered for a young man there. We all know why Katniss Everdeen volunteered, but your motivation seems a little, oh, how should I word this.  _Guarded,_ perhaps, or maybe even mysterious. Give us all a little insight as to your motivation."

"It's simple," Gale replies steadily. "Katniss and I both lost our fathers at the same time. We've been -" here he pauses ever so briefly "-  _helping_  each other for almost four years. Katniss is my...my best friend. She stepped up and volunteered for her sister. I  _had_  to volunteer for her."

"I don't understand," Caesar says, a puzzled frown creasing his forehead. "'Volunteer' for her?"

"After Katniss volunteered for Prim," Gale explains, "and before the boy Tribute was chosen, I realized that I  _had_  to step up for her...and do whatever I needed to do to get her home - alive."

A shocked gasp rises from the audience - and from Caesar Flickerman as well - at Gale's revelation. Caesar quickly composes himself and asks, "Did I just understand you correctly? Do you intend to sacrifice yourself in an effort to ensure that Katniss Everdeen wins the Hunger Games?"

"Whatever it takes," Gale says flatly. "And no, I don't have a death wish. I want to live as badly as anyone! But I want my family to survive also, and with Katniss as Victor I know she'll take care of them. This is the best shot that I have for ensuring their survival."

"Gale," Caesar says quietly, "There are twenty-two other Tributes in these Games. The odds -"

" - are not good," Gale finishes. "I know this already. But we didn't earn the scores that we have for nothing." Gale pauses and turns to where the other Tributes are assembled. "I've heard others tonight talk about how well prepared they are. They may be able to swing a sword, or throw a spear...but Katniss and I have over four  _years_  of practical experience at surviving. And that's worth a lot more than being able to chuck a spear, or throw a knife, or swing a sword."

The crowd shifts uneasily as Caesar quickly changes the subject. "Regarding Katniss," he says, "I understand that she was not happy that you volunteered."

Gale chuckles. "She was furious. She's still mad at me, in fact." The camera quickly cuts to Katniss, who's intently examining something on the floor; her neck, shoulders and cheeks a bright red.

"Well, I hope she realizes what a staunch ally she has in you," Caesar says sincerely.

Gale glances quickly at Katniss, then back to Caesar. "So do I," he says softly.

"Gale, I have to ask this," Caesar says. "What if Katniss Everdeen is...not able to win?"

"Then I will," Gale says firmly. "And I will dedicate my victory to her."

"One final question," Caesar says. "How well do you know the boy that you volunteered for?"

"Peeta Mellark?" Gale snorts. "I hardly know him at all. His father owns the bakery in District Twelve. He's nothing to me."

He said it. I'm nothing to him. Maybe now the rumors about me paying him will stop. But it's the  _way_  he said it that eats away at me from the inside out.

I'm nothing to him. And, it seems, I'm becoming nothing to everyone else as well.

**PART IV**

I rise early the next morning. The Hunger Games will officially begin at Ten A.M. Capitol time. I want to have my dressing change done long before that. Aside from that, I'm still not moving very quickly. I want to give myself enough time for the walk into the Seam and back home.

Finding the Everdeen house will not be difficult. I've watched Katniss walk home from school enough to know where she lives. I just don't want to run into anyone that may be out early in the morning.

The mines are, of course, closed today, and school is still out for another week. After all, Launch Day is another Mandatory Viewing day. And District Twelve is two hours ahead of the Capitol, so it will be noon when the Tributes are launched into the arena.

It's just after six when I leave my house. The district is stirring, although I hardly see anyone else on my walk into the Seam. It's a beautiful, clear morning, with just a hint of chill in the air.

All the way into the Seam I replay Gale's words in my head over and over again.  _He's nothing to me._  It's been over a week since that ugly rumor has surfaced, and in spite of the overwhelming evidence pointing to my innocence, there is still enough doubt in peoples' minds that I  _did_  pay Gale to take my place that I'm still being shunned. Even Delly Cartwright and Madge Undersee don't want to be seen with me...although, at least with them, I don't think that they believe that I paid Gale off. No, with them it's something that I hoped they would be immune to.

Peer pressure is not to be taken lightly.

I continue to muse like this (and, I admit, feel sorry for myself at the same time), until I suddenly find myself standing in front of the front door to the Everdeen house. I steel myself, take a deep breath, and knock firmly.

_Let's get this over with._

* * *

The door slowly opens, to reveal...

"Primrose?" I say in surprise. She's obviously been up long enough to get dressed and to re-braid her hair.

Primrose gives me a warm smile, then steps to one side. "Good morning, Peeta."

I step into the small, ramshackle house. I realize that this is the first time I've ever entered a Seam dwelling. Somehow the thought fills me with shame...not for being here, but for this being my first time in a Seam home.

"Good morning," I mutter. "Where's your mother?"

Primrose hesitates before replying. "She's having a...bad day. She's...I'll be changing your dressings." She leads me over to a rickety-looking table. I can see that the top has been cleared off.

Primrose points to the table. "Go ahead and take off your shirt, then lay on the table."

Before I comply, I hand her a bag. "Here," I say. "For your trouble."

Primrose accepts the bag with a shy smile, even as she says, "You didn't need to do this. We still have a bunch of breads from the last time."

"It's not bread," I say with a smile. "It's flour, yeast, sugar, salt...everything you need to make your own bread. There's some recipes in there also. I figured it would be more practical than just giving you more bread."

Primrose carefully sets the bag on the counter next to the sink. "Thank you, Peeta. I'm sure we'll enjoy this."

I quickly strip off my shirt after another awkward pause and carefully climb up onto the table. The table creaks and groans under my weight, but thankfully holds as I lay down. Primrose is now all business, cutting away the bandage holding the dressings and pulling it away, then carefully peeling each dressing off the welts and healing cuts on my back.

I suck in my breath sharply as one of the dressings peels away painfully. "Sorry," Primrose mutters. "A little suppuration there."

"Suppuration?" I groan, turning my head. "Where - where did you learn  _that,_ Primrose?"

Primrose peels another dressing off. "My friends call me Prim," she says, "and I  _am_  a Healer, remember?"

"Am I?" I gasp as another dressing, sticking to my back, suddenly pulls away.

"Are you what?" she asks softly, her gentle fingers probing my back. "My friend?"

"Yeah," I manage to say through gritted teeth. "It seems that I don't have too many of those left anymore."

Another dressing comes off. This one wasn't too bad. I didn't even groan.

"I know what they're saying," she says. "And they're wrong. It's just a stupid, ugly rumor started by one evil boy."

I turn my head to look at her. "It's a rumor that everyone seems to believe."

"I don't," she says. "Neither does my mother." She turns and grabs a wooden bowl that's been sitting on the counter, and places it on the table, then grabs a bottle filled with a clear liquid. She picks up a piece of cotton bunting and soaks it in the liquid from the bottle.

"Sorry, this will probably sting a little bit," she says as she begins dabbing at the welts and cuts.

I flinch violently and suck my breath in sharply. "What -" I gasp out from between clenched teeth "- is that?"

"White liquor from the Hob," Primrose explains as she continues to dab. "My mother has always used it in her remedies." She continues to work for a few minutes, steadfastly ignoring my groans, until finally she announces, "All done. I'm going to leave the dressings off for a bit and let the welts air out. And you need to stop worrying about those lies that people have been telling about you."

I laugh sadly. "It doesn't matter," I say. "The damage is done."

"But it's just  _not right!_ " Prim says stubbornly. "Mrs. Hawthorne even said that you didn't pay Gale!"

"And people are saying that she's saying that so the Peacekeepers don't search her house looking for the money that I didn't have to pay Gale in the first place," I reply tiredly. I laugh again. "You know, I actually sat down and figured out what it would take to make it worth someone actually taking payment to volunteer for the Games."

"Peeta -" Prim says, worry tingeing her voice.

"Around seven  _thousand_  Sesterces," I finish. "Enough to support the Hawthorne family for the next fourteen years, until all the kids are past their last Reaping." I sigh heavily. "I've never even seen  _seventy_  Sesterces in one place in my entire life."

"Don't let this eat you up," Prim says. "Any more than it already has, at least."

"Too late," I reply. I feel a tightness in my chest. "Prim,  _why_  did Gale do it? I mean, I know why...but why did it have to be  _my_  name pulled from that bowl?"

"The same reason my name was pulled," Prim says. "The odds weren't in our favor."

"Yeah, and when your sister volunteered for you, at least no one hates you for it," I mutter bitterly. Prim begins to take dressings from the bowl and lays them, one at a time, across the welts on my back. I sigh as the cool poultice soothes my tortured skin.

"And that's where you're wrong," she says softly. "Two people hate me for it."

"I don't believe it!" I say sharply, raising my head. "Who?"

"Me," she replies miserably, "and my mother."

"You?" I'm now thoroughly confused. "And your mother? That doesn't make any sense!"

"You don't understand," Prim says. "Katniss has been sacrificing for me literally every day for the last five  _years_. I will  _never_  be able to repay her for everything that she's done for me - for everything that she's given up for me. And now - this. If she...she..."

"She won't," I say firmly. "She's smart. She's strong. And if she gets a bow..."

" _If_ ," Prim whispers.

"She will." I only wish I really felt as confident as I sound. "So why do you think your mother - hates you?"

"It's how I catch her looking at me," Prim replies. "Like she's accusing me of something."

"Prim, I'm sure she doesn't hate you," I say. "She's just...worried. I know what you're feeling. Not hate. Guilt. Because I feel it too."

Prim sighs heavily. "Guilt. I guess that's as good an explanation as any." She runs her fingers over the dressings carefully. "Sit up. I need to re-bandage you."

Carefully, I swing my legs over the edge of the table and sit up. Prim quickly wraps a new bandage - carefully torn strips of cloth - around my chest and back to hold the dressings in place. Once she finishes, she steps back, then circles me slowly, inspecting her handiwork.

"All done," she finally says. "You can put your shirt back on. This treatment should do it. You can remove the dressings yourself in a couple of days. You won't need to come back here unless there's more suppuration. You're lucky, according to my mother. She said that most whippings cut deep."

I quickly button my shirt. "Please thank her for me."

"I will," Prim says. She chews on her lip thoughtfully before speaking again. "You said earlier that you know why Gale volunteered for you."

I hesitate before replying. "I promised him that I wouldn't say anything."

Prim smiles. "You don't have to. He loves her, doesn't he? And so do you."

I can only stammer and sputter for a moment. "What...what makes you say that?" I finally manage to get out.

"With you it's pretty obvious," Prim replies with a laugh. "Half the district has probably figured that one out. Gale - he's another story. It took me a while to figure that one out. But I am right, aren't I?"

I say nothing, but the blush creeping over my skin speaks volumes.

"Peeta," Prim continues, "If Gale hadn't volunteered, would you have done what he's doing? Announce to the world that your mission is to save her?"

"I like to think so," I reply slowly. "I like to think that I would have stepped up and done whatever I could have done to keep her safe. I just don't know...I never had the chance."

"You would have," Prim says confidently. "I don't think you would've told the whole world that you were gonna protect her, though."

I laugh softly. "No," I say. "No, I probably would've done something stupid like announce to the entire country that I'm in love with her or something, though."

**PART V**

After leaving the Everdeen house, I don't go straight home. Instead, I jam my hands in my pockets and wander around the district for a while.

It's funny. I've lived here my entire life and I've never really explored the district. Oh, sure, I know the Square, and Town, and the school. But places like the Seam are foreign to me. Most of the residents of Twelve live here - coal miners and their families. Scraping out a bare existence hundreds of meters under the ground. We don't see too many Seam residents in Town - they usually spend their most of their hard-earned coin in the Hob, the illegal marketplace that the Peacekeepers turn a blind eye to.

_Katniss and Gale have both been going there for years,_  I say to myself as I walk past the ancient warehouse that houses District Twelve's illegal black market. It's said that you can buy just about anything in there...food, white liquor, clothing, even prohibitively expensive items like tobacco and morphling are available there...for a price. As I walk past the building I see a couple of faces peer out the filthy windows, staring curiously at me.

_Probably wondering what brought a Merchant into their part of town,_  I say to myself.  _I'm wondering why I just didn't go straight home after Prim changed my dressings. I sure don't belong here._

The problem is, I'm quickly finding out that I don't belong in Town anymore, either.

* * *

I end up staying in the Square right up to Launch. I sure didn't feel like going home. I see more and more people start to congregate here the closer it gets to noon - mostly Seam residents that are too poor to afford their own Holo-TV, but a sprinkling of Merchants as well. The Seam residents all glare at me, then pretend that I don't even exist. The Merchants - well, they all mumble a quick greeting when they see me, then steadfastly ignore me, taking great pains to not look me in the eye.

To my surprise, I find that I really don't care. It's like I'm growing a shell around me that somehow protects me from their cold indifference. It only hurts with two people...Delly and Madge.

I'm surprised to see Delly out here...I would have thought that she and her family would watch Mandatory Viewing from home, like most Merchants. But the entire Cartwright family is in the Square - parents, grandparents, her younger brother, and Delly. They all murmur soft greetings to me as they walk by. Delly looks like she wants to say more until her father gently rebukes her, telling her to stay with the family. She shoots me a single apologetic look over her shoulder as they walk away.

Madge, of course, is with her father, the Mayor. The Mayor always makes a point to be present in the Square for important Mandatory Viewing sessions such as the Tribute Parade, Interviews, and Launch Day. Or, as Madge has hinted at before, he is required by the Capitol to attend. No matter...he's here, along with Madge and, to my surprise, his wife. Mrs. Undersee has been ill for quite some time and it was rare to see her out of their house, even for occasions such as this.

_I wonder how she would feel if she was sick in bed and her only daughter was Reaped_. This unkind thought invaded my mind and I find myself actually not minding it at all.  _And why not? It's not like anyone has gone out of their way to be kind to me this past week or so!_

From the Undersee family I simply get a series of curt nods - even from Madge. And, in spite of my ever-growing bitterness, I try to find some logic in their treatment of me.

_Maybe they've been told to distance themselves from me, at least until all this rumor bullshit is past. Maybe they -_

"Peeta?" A voice by my elbow makes me jump slightly. I turn to my right and see Darius Potter standing there, a small hand-held electronic device in his hands.

"Sorry," he quickly says. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's okay, Dar -  _Officer_ ," I reply sheepishly. "I just didn't see you there, that's all."

"Well, anyway," Darius continues, "I need to know if you'll be staying in the Square for Mandatory Viewing." He holds up the small electronic device. "I'll have to register you if you are."

I frown. "Register?"

"You've never watched Mandatory from the Square?" he asks. I shake my head. Darius glances down at the small device and taps a few keys. "I've entered your name. Are you staying or not?"

I nod. "Yes. Sure. I guess so." Darius nods, and taps the screen. The device beeps. He holds it out toward me.

"Put your right thumb on the small screen," he says, indicating a small square, a couple of centimeters across, at the top of the device. I carefully place my right thumb on the screen. The device beeps again and a green light flashes. Darius grins and looks up.

"Okay," he says. "You're you. You're duly registered to watch Mandatory Viewing - Tribute Launch." Darius pauses for a moment before reciting: "You're hereby admonished, citizen, that you must remain in the Square until the on-air announcement concluding Mandatory Viewing. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," I reply.

"Very good," Darius says, then leans closer and adds in a near-whisper, "How's your back?"

"Better," I whisper back.

"Good," he replies. "I went as light as I could."

"Thanks," I say sincerely.

Darius straightens up. "Any time, citizen. Happy Hunger Games." He disappears into the crowd before I can say anything more, no doubt looking for others to register.

I shake my head. I have two friends, it seems. A twelve year old Seam girl, and a rogue Peacekeeper. My next thought was interrupted by the sound of the Panem National Anthem, a musical composition ironically named "Horn of Plenty," as the huge Holo-Screen above the stage flickers to life. I glance at the clock hanging above the main entrance to the Justice Building. Eleven Fifty-Five. Five minutes to launch.

The scene fades from the image of the Great Seal of Panem to a shot of this years' arena. I can feel my stomach, which had been twisting itself into knots, relax a bit as the arena comes into view.

The Cornucopia lay in the center of an open field, surrounded by weapons and supplies. There were more weapons and supplies inside the Cornucopia. A lake lays to the right of the Cornucopia, with woods to the left and rear. To the rear of the Cornucopia the field drops off sharply, resolving itself into a field of tall, wavy grass. Grain of some sort, perhaps? More woods lay beyond the grassy field.

Woods. The perfect environment for Katniss and Gale.

Of course, I knew that the environment in any Hunger Games arena was entirely artificial. The Gamemakers controlled every aspect of the arena - weather, wildlife, even night and day if they chose to. What looked to be tailor-made for Katniss and Gale could instead prove to be a death trap for them.

But, for the time being, it looks very promising. I'm only half listening as Claudius Templesmith drones on and on about the arena. I glance again at the clock. Eleven Fifty-Eight. Soon the Tributes would be rising up into the arena. I can clearly see all twenty-four Launch Pads, arranged in a semi-circle around the Cornucopia. As I watch, the pad covers suddenly retract. They're in the tubes and rising now.

The screen suddenly splits into three parts. The middle still shows the Cornucopia and all twenty-four Launch Pads. The far left and far right split screens focus on a Launch Pad each. I know what these are. These are the District Twelve Launch Pads. We'll all see Katniss and Gale close up.

I feel bile rise up in my throat and suddenly wish that I had gone home instead of staying in the Square. The last thing that I want to do is puke in front of all these people. Too late for that now. The Tributes are emerging from the tubes.

There's no applause, no sound of any kind really, as Katniss and Gale appear. They, along with the rest of the Tributes, are dressed the same - thigh-length jacket, sturdy boots, and heavy-duty pants. They both look grim. I can't say as I blame them.

I feel a slight nudge from behind as the sixty second clock begins counting down. The Tributes have to remain on their Launch Pads until the starting gong sounds. Step off too early and they'll be blown to bits by mines planted around each Pad.

"Take a good look, coward," a voice hisses in my ear. "Take a good look at the  _man_  that took your place!"

I glance over my shoulder, to see Gale Hawthorne's friend Thom, a neighbor of his from the Seam, glaring at me. My eyes meet his for a second. Ten days ago I would have been intimidated. Ten days was a lifetime ago. I deliberately turn my back to him and face the Holo-Screen again.

"I'm talking to  _you_ , mother-fucker!" A sharp blow to my back causes me to gasp in pain and almost brings me to my knees. Almost.

Even as I spin around, balling my hands into fists, I hear a new, sharp voice. "Break it up! Break it up!" Several Peacekeepers, Darius among them, are quickly pushing their way through the crowd, placing themselves between Thom and I. I didn't even realize that they were there until just then.

A pair of Peacekeepers - Darius was one of them - grabs my arms firmly as another pair does the same to Thom. "Knock this shit off  _right now_!" A Peacekeeper barks at Thom. "Or, by Snow, you'll end this day with a striped back!"

Thom immediately calms down, but continues to glare at me. As the Peacekeepers hustle him away from me, effectively splitting us up, he yells, "This ain't over, Townie!"

"You okay?" Darius asks quietly. I nod.

"Go home right after Mandatory is over," he orders. I don't argue with him. I manage to focus on the Holo-Screen just as the sixty second clock reaches zero and the gong sounds. Tributes explode off their Launch Pads, Katniss and Gale among them. I can't tell where either of them are going in the confusion.

Let the Games begin.


	4. Chapter 4

**BOOK II - ACCUSATION**

**Accusation - A charge or claim that someone has done something illegal or wrong.**

**CHAPTER 4**

**PART I**

They're both still alive.

The bloodbath at the Cornucopia was as brutal as always, with the Career Pack - both District One and District Two Tributes as well as the District Four girl - taking control early. Katniss and Gale had been separated just about as far as possible - while still being able to see each other clearly - when they were launched. Supposedly, launch positions were drawn randomly, but their positions looked too deliberate to be random. Someone had taken issue with Gale's pledge during the Interviews to protect Katniss at all costs, and had made sure that they were well separated at the Launch.

There were temptations set out for both of them as well. Almost directly in front of Katniss, near the mouth of the Cornucopia, was a beautiful bow and a full quiver of arrows. Obviously she had impressed the Gamemakers with her archery skills. Directly to Gale's front was a beautifully arranged display of - spears? I knew that Gale had some impressive bow skills as well...maybe he hid those during training, and concentrated more on spear throwing instead. Whatever the reason, the spears were obviously his temptation - and another indication that launch positions weren't simply random.

When the gong sounds, Katniss seemed to hesitate for just a second, while Gale was off his Pad in a flash. He ignored the spears, instead focusing on a backpack that was about halfway between him and the spears. The redheaded girl from Five obviously had the same idea, and was a trifle faster - she reached the pack two steps ahead of Gale, who simply grabs her by her shoulder and almost casually tosses her aside. The Five girl didn't attempt to grab anything else - she rolls to her feet and makes straight for the woods behind the Launch Pads. Gale snatches up the pack and immediately darts into the woods.

Katniss, on the other hand, hesitates just long enough to make going for the bow nothing short of suicidal. She jumps off her Pad and bends down, scooping something up off the ground to her front, then spots a brightly colored pack about halfway to the bow. She and the boy from Nine get to the pack at the same time. They fight for the pack, the boy clearly gaining the upper hand quickly, but suddenly he stiffens and collapses, a knife buried in his back. I see her then - the girl from Two. A Career. With a handful of knives.

Katniss rolls away and springs to her feet, throwing the pack over one shoulder as she starts to run for the woods. The girl from Two aims and lets fly with a knife, straight for Katniss's back. Katniss must have eyes in the back of her head. She hikes the pack up at the last second and the knife buries itself harmlessly in the pack as Katniss never breaks stride, and in seconds she, too, disappears into the forest.

_They must have some kind of plan already worked out,_ I say to myself hopefully. They both have a pack, and they both managed to escape the bloodbath.  _They'll link up in the forest, figure out how to get food and water, and then wait. Wait for the Careers to come looking for them._

The action on the screen now is all Cornucopia and the bloodbath. Every so often a brief glimpse is given of one of the other Tributes that escaped the bloodbath - Katniss, Gale, the girl from Five -  _Finch! Her name is Finch!_  - Thresh and Rue from District Eleven, the girl from Eight, and the boy from Ten. How he manages to escape with his bad leg is a mystery. But seven Tributes are busy putting distance between themselves and the Cornucopia...even if they are all working on their own personal survival plans.

Finally the bloodbath is over. There's no one left to kill. The Career Pack, with one addition - inexplicably, the scrawny boy from District Three - are in control of the Cornucopia. Finally, the cannons begin to sound...each report signaling a Tribute death.

The cannons fire eleven times. Thirteen. Thirteen Tributes are still alive...Katniss and Gale among them. And Mandatory Viewing is over - for now.

I sigh. Time to head home.

* * *

"Where have you been?" My mother shrieks at me as I enter our house.

"Getting my dressings changed," I mutter as I brush by her. She roughly grabs my shoulder as I squeeze past her.

"You left at dawn!" She spins me around and I see her eyes flashing with anger. "It's past one! Do you realize how much  _trouble_  you can get us in for not watching Mandatory Viewing?  _Do you?!_ "

I can feel myself tense and my hands clench into fists. I've taken abuse from my mother as far back as I can remember. I decide that it stops. Here. Now.

"Son," my father says in a calm voice, cutting through my anger. "Your mother is right." Somehow he manages to place himself between my mother and I, even removing her hand from my shoulder. "Your missing Mandatory Viewing could get us into trouble. You're still a juvenile, after all...we're responsible for you until you turn eighteen."

"It's alright, Poppa," I say. "I watched in the Square. I registered there." I glance at my mother, who's still glaring at me. "I watched eleven 'juveniles' getting hacked to death by some other 'juveniles.' Pretty exciting, huh?" I'm aware of my voice rising, but I'm past caring. "Oh, and I know how disappointed you must be, mother...Katniss and Gale being still alive and all. No loss if they are killed, though...nothing but worthless Seam trash, right?"

"How  _dare_  you take that tone with me!" My mother snaps. "And you take that treasonous talk someplace else! It has no place in  _this_ house!"

I can feel myself doing a slow burn. "Mother," I say in a low voice, practically biting off every word, "If it wasn't for Gale Hawthorne, it would be  _me_  in that arena right now.  _Me_! I'd probably be dead by now, in fact! You should be treating Mrs. Hawthorne like she was President Snow's sister instead of referring to her as 'Seam trash!'"

"Come on, son," my father says gently, guiding me out of the house and into the adjacent bakery...and away from my furious mother. "Let's go have a talk."

Talking was about the last thing on my mind, but I acquiesce and allow my father to steer me into the bakery. Once inside, Poppa grabs two stools and plunks them down behind the display case.

"Sit," he says, pointing at one of the stools. I sit.

My father pulls up the other stool and sits down. For a moment, he sits quietly, studying my face with those calm, gentle eyes of his, before he says a word.

Finally he breaks our silence. "Peeta, I know that you've had a rough time this last week or so. But yelling at your mother isn't going to make things any easier for you."

"Poppa -" I begin, but he puts up one hand to silence me.

"Let me finish. Please." Poppa gets a faraway look in his eyes for a moment, then he focuses on me again. "You're worried about Katniss Everdeen, right?"

I stare at my father for a long moment before replying. "Yes," I whisper.

"I told you about her mother and I, right?" he asks. I nod.

Poppa gets that faraway look in his eyes again. "When she chose Drew Everdeen over me, I was crushed. I swore that I was done with women forever. And I was - for about a year." He smiles sadly. "Then I met your mother. Do you know why I married her?"

I shake my head. "No."

"Because there was nothing about her that even vaguely reminded me of Una Everdeen," Poppa replies with a chuckle. "She was exactly what I needed at the time. And she was also my second choice...and she knew it. She still does."

"What made Mrs. Everdeen break up with you?" I ask. Poppa's never talked like this before, and I have no idea if I will ever again have the opportunity to talk like this with him again.

"She was Una Ingalls then," Poppa says. "Her family has owned the apothecary for as long as Mellarks have owned this bakery. And the Hunger Games was what broke us up."

I frown. "I don't understand," I admit.

"How long have you had a crush on Katniss Everdeen?" Poppa asks suddenly.

I blush. "Forever," I whisper. "Since I was five."

"And she doesn't know?" Poppa studies my face intently.

I shake my head. "No. Seems like everyone else in Twelve does, though."

Poppa laughs. "Son, you're a true Mellark. Your heart is on your sleeve. Why didn't you ever tell her?"

I shrug. "I dunno. Scared, I guess."

"Of being rejected?" he asks gently.

"I guess so," I admit. "I'm a little scared of her, too."

Poppa laughs again. "Can't say as I blame you there. Any girl that can hit a squirrel in the eye with a single arrow at twenty meters is pretty intimidating."

"Poppa, what are you getting at with all this?" I ask impatiently.

My father takes a deep breath before replying. "When I was about your age, the best friend that I ever had was Reaped. At the same time, Una Ingalls' best friend was Reaped as well."

" _Both_  of your best friends in the same Games?" I ask in amazement. Poppa nods solemnly.

"Wow," I say softly. "This is the first time that anyone that I've ever cared about was Reaped...even if she doesn't know it. I can't imagine what it was like for the both of you to have to watch your best friends go into the Games."

"It was horrible," Poppa admits. "But nothing compared to how I felt when your name was called."

I glance down, embarrassed by my father's naked emotion. "So what family was your friend from?" I ask, more in an effort to get my father to talk about something,  _anything_ , other than me being Reaped.

"My friend's parents were both coal miners," Poppa replies quietly. I look up at my father in astonishment.

"Your best friend was  _Seam_?" I ask.

"Don't say it like it's a bad thing, son," my father gently rebukes me. "But to answer your question, yes. Yes he was. And, to be honest, I took a lot of shit for it too...from the other Merchant kids - even Una, who ended up marrying a coal miner."

"It's not a bad thing," I stammer out. "I mean, a couple of guys on my wrestling team are Seam. Katniss is Seam. There's nothing wrong with it."

"But you don't have any  _real_  friends from the Seam, do you?" Poppa asks. In response, I stare at the floor again and just shake my head.

"Today was the first time I've ever been in a Seam house," I admit. "When I went to the Everdeens to get my dressings changed."

"Son, I didn't mean to put you on the spot," Poppa says. "And you're right - there's  _nothing_ wrong with having a friend from the Seam. Unfortunately, silly prejudices sometimes never die."

"How...how did you end up with a friend from the Seam?" I ask.

"He was the smartest person I've ever known," Poppa says quietly. "We were eleven...it was about the time his father died from Miner's Cough. He was helping me with my algebra homework in exchange for two-day-old bread from the bakery. Before either of us knew it...we were friends."

"How...how long - I mean, how did he do? In the Games, I mean?" I ask hesitantly.

Poppa smiles wryly. "Surprisingly well. He opened a lot of people's eyes. Una Ingalls' friend Maysilee did amazingly well also."

"That was her name?" I ask. "'Maysilee?' It sounds Merchant to me."

"It is - was," Poppa replies. "Her name was Maysilee Donner."

Donner. As in Udo Donner. Which means that she is - was - related to Madge Undersee.

"Maysilee and Una Ingalls were best friends. Maysilee had a twin sister, Annaliese. Annaliese married Karl Undersee." Poppa explains.

I sit quietly, thinking about all this. There's a long hallway at school, with the pictures of every Tribute from District Twelve. I must have walked by her picture...as well as the picture of my Poppa's friend...a thousand times since I was five. Every face in every picture had a name...a name and a history. And I had never bothered to read any of them.

"Maysilee made it as far as the final five," Poppa continues, his voice sounding very far away. "She was a lot tougher than just about everyone had given her credit for. She and...my friend were allies through much of the Games. When they finally split up...neither one wanted to have to kill the other...she was killed only a few minutes later. My friend heard her screams and sat with her and held her hand until she died."

"So your friend made it to the final four?" I ask. I was impressed. It's a rare feat for anyone from Twelve to make it as far as the final eight, let alone the final four.

My father smiles enigmatically. "Oh, he did a little better than that. He came home. Alive."

I stare at my father in disbelief as the realization of who he's talking about finally hits me. "You're friends with  _Haymitch Abernathy?_ "

"Was," my father corrects me. "The Haymitch that I knew got on the train to the Capitol on Reaping Day and never came back."

"He changed," I say. It wasn't a question.

"Immensely." Poppa says. "I mean, how do you make small talk with a boy that's killed people? And it only got worse after his mother, brother, and girlfriend died."

"How did they die?" I ask quietly.

"'Unfortunate accidents' is what the Capitol called them," Poppa replies. "No one knows for sure. But they were all dead within two weeks of Haymitch returning home. And before two more weeks had passed, Haymitch had crawled inside a bottle and never came out."

I don't know what to say. Poppa continues, "Son, you...and the majority of Twelve, for that matter...only know Haymitch as a drunkard. No one knows him like I do. He's one of the smartest people I've ever met, if not  _the_ smartest."

"So why aren't you friends anymore?" I ask.

Poppa sighs heavily. "I tried, when he first came back. But he was distant - cold. The part of him that made us friends did die in that arena. And it only got worse after the deaths."

"You said the Hunger Games was what broke you and Mrs. Everdeen up. How?" I ask.

Poppa laughs bitterly. "That's an easy one. My best friend lived. Hers died."

"Did she blame Haymitch? Because, from what you've told me, he had nothing to do with it." I say.

"No," he replies slowly. "At least, I don't think so." Poppa sighs again. "I know that she never really liked Haymitch before the Games." He shrugs. "Who knows? All I know is that we were pretty much through by the time Haymitch went on his Victory Tour. By the next Reaping, she and Drew Everdeen were firmly a couple."

"Poppa, I don't really see what all this has to do with what's happening now." I say in frustration.

He shakes his head. "Don't you see, Peeta? The Games...they change  _everyone_ , not just those that are Reaped. My best friend becomes a Victor and it changed my whole life, not to mention the lives of five or six other people. You're Reaped, Gale Hawthorne volunteers for you...and not  _for_  you, either, but for Katniss Everdeen - and look at what you've had to go through."

I nod, agreeing with everything that he's said. When Gale first volunteered for me it was like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I had been given a second chance at life. And it had been one long nightmare ever since.

"Let's go back to the house, son," Poppa says. "And Peeta - try to understand your mother a little bit. The Games have changed her, too."

I simply nod. I just want my life to return to some semblance of normal. But, from listening to my father talk, I'm afraid that will be impossible.

**PART II**

Mandatory viewing - again. This time, a recap of events from the night before.

"How exciting!" Claudius Templesmith is saying. "The Alliance between Districts One, Two, and Four -" Claudius is careful not to refer to it as the "Career" Alliance...after all, training for the Games in your home district is against the law "- have stumbled across a lone Tribute trying to keep herself warm. Let's watch the action!"

The camera cuts away from Claudius's rather fleshy face to a strategically placed camera in the arena. It's nighttime on Day One, and, so far at least, the Gamemakers have let night fall naturally. The Career Pack, having consolidated their spoils a bit away from the Cornucopia, established a camp, ate, and rested following the bloodbath, and are now hunting other Tributes - only to find them difficult to find.

Thresh, the huge Tribute from Eleven, along with the boy with the bad leg from Ten, chose the more open area behind the Cornucopia to escape to. Thresh, obviously no stranger to the outdoors, has established a camp and, for now, appears to be resting, while the boy from Ten, although lacking in the creature comforts that Thresh is now enjoying, seems at least to be holding his own.

Thresh's district partner, Rue, had immediately taken to the forest that dominates the area behind the Launching Pads. She had even managed to snag a small backpack on her way out and away from the bloodbath. Rue is now nestled high in a tree, securely tied to the trunk, seemingly fast asleep.

The redheaded girl from District Five, Finch, did run into the forest - but she never strays far from the forest's edge, keeping the Careers base camp under surveillance, while the girl from Eight, obviously the most shaken by the bloodbath, built a fire for warmth and has hunkered down, dozing fitfully.

Of course, I was interested in Katniss and Gale the most. Katniss has set snares and has taken stock of her supplies. Hopefully in the morning her snares will reward her with a rabbit or other small animal. She's since scaled a tree and has tied herself to the trunk, trying to get some rest.

Gale, on the other hand, was close by...although seemingly unaware of Katniss's proximity. He's kept himself busy, constructing simple, yet lethal weapons from the materials at hand - sturdy tree branches and the dried leg bones of a large deer or elk. Unlike Katniss, Gale seems intent on spending the night on the ground...perhaps trading the security of an arboreal perch for the ability to move quickly if the need arises. Like Katniss, Gale has set out several snares, although, like Katniss, it doesn't appear that his have caught anything yet.

Both Katniss and Gale witnessed the girl from Eight light her fire, and both had the same reaction - disgust. The cameras now show a split screen, with Katniss in her tree and Gale hiding in a natural blind, both shaking their heads at the girl in the middle, now huddled close to her fire.

"It appears that the Coal-Dust Twins both realize the hazards of lighting a fire at night in the arena," Claudius Templesmith is saying, freely using the nickname used by Caesar Flickerman. "Fires draw unwanted attention, as the unfortunate Tribute from Eight is about to find out."

Katniss and Gale are too far away to witness what happens next...but they certainly have no problem hearing the girl screaming.

* * *

"Twelve down and eleven to go!"

The girl from Eight lies in a spreading pool of blood, twitching slightly as the Career Pack goes through her meager supplies. Cato is the only one that seems disinterested in going through the Tribute's pack. He busies himself with cleaning his victim's blood off of his spear with a scrap of cloth that he ripped from her jacket.

"Anything good?" Marvel, the boy Tribute from One, asks.

Clove straightens up, snorting in disgust. "Shit," she practically spits. "Some matches, an extra pair of socks, some dried meat, and a poncho. That's it."

"Well, let's divvy it up and get moving." This from Glimmer, Marvel's district partner.

In response, Clove tosses the matches to the girl from Four -  _what_ is _her name?_  - and then shoves the socks into a large pocket on her right pants leg. The dried meat she tosses to Marvel, the poncho to Glimmer.

Clove glances over at Cato. "That's it."

"Better clear out so that they can get the body before it starts stinking," Cato says. The rest of the Pack agrees and they quickly head off down a faint trail - right towards Katniss.

For some reason, I'm not overly concerned by this. Katniss is high up in a tree and knows how to keep hidden. But the split screen shows the entire nation of Panem what the Career Pack couldn't see - that they were being watched the whole time.

By Gale Hawthorne.

Gale had moved in closer from his original hiding place while the Career Pack went about their grim business of killing the girl from Eight, and had watched and listened to them cracking jokes as they rifled through her meager supplies, his mouth set in a grim line the entire time. And even now, as the Career Pack heads towards their camp - and Katniss's tree - Gale stays and watches.

The cameras cut away to the Hunger Games studio to show Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman watching, along with the rest of Panem, as Gale's eyes flick from the supine body of the girl to the direction that the Career Pack was traveling in.

"I admit," Claudius says, as he turns to Caesar, "Gale Hawthorne's actions had me quite confused at first. I said to myself, 'Why in the world is he staying? The girl's obviously dead, and the Alliance has taken everything of value!'"

Caesar grins and turns toward the camera. "Ahh, Claudius, we were all confused by Gale Hawthorne's actions at first...but it's all clear to us now! Let's watch!"

The cameras cut back to a split screen, showing three angles - Katniss in her tree, the Career Pack moving through the forest, and Gale watching the girl.

Suddenly the Career Pack stops, just meters from Katniss's tree. Katniss's camera shows her awake and alert, her eyes trained on the Pack. As if on cue, Gale slowly rises up and silently approaches the girl from Eight. As he draws near it becomes apparent why Gale hadn't moved on after the Career Pack was safely out of sight.

The girl from Eight is still alive.

Gale kneels near the girl's head, murmuring softly to her as her body twitches, an almost inaudible bubbling moan escaping her lips. Gale strokes her hair and murmurs something to the girl once again as he digs into his jacket pocket with his free hand.

The camera on the Career Pack shows the group milling around in seeming confusion, as Gale pulls a small object from his pocket. He fumbles with the object for a moment with both hands, then places one hand on the girl's forehead and gently turns her head to one side. The camera zooms in closer and the object in Gale's hand becomes clear.

A small folding knife.

It must have been part of the supplies in his backpack. Gale leans in close to the girl and whispers something. The girl nods twice and closes her eyes. She lets out a single whimper as Gale works quickly, deftly cutting the artery just below her left ear, her blood spurting out strongly at first then quickly weakening.

The camera on the Career Pack zooms in on Glimmer, who says, "Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?"

Cato turns toward the blonde girl from One. "I'd say yes. Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately."

"Unless she isn't dead," Glimmer smirks.

Cato fixes Glimmer with a cold stare. "She's dead. I stuck her myself."

"Then where's the cannon?" Glimmer asks, her smirk growing wider.

Clove steps forward. "Someone should go back," she says, running the ball of her thumb over the blade of the knife that she's holding. "Make sure the job's done."

"Yeah, we don't want to have to track her down twice," Marvel adds, glancing back up the trail.

As the Career Pack argues, the camera on Gale shows him standing up slowly, after carefully wiping off the blade of his folding knife on the girl's jacket. The girl is obviously dead now, her eyes staring sightlessly into the night sky. Gale bends down a final time and passes his hands over her eyes, closing them, then straightens up, glances around, and begins to move...this time in the same direction as the Career Pack.

"I say she's dead!" Cato snaps. Seconds later, the cannon booms. Cato looks at the others in his Alliance, a triumphant grin on his face.

"See? It just took her a while." Cato laughs and turns back up the trail. "Come on. We're wasting time. It'll be light soon."

The rest of the Pack murmurs in agreement as they all turn and continue to head up the trail toward the lake...and their base camp. They are unaware that Gale is just minutes behind them.

The three-way split screen shows Katniss slowly relaxing as the Career Pack disappears, her eyes drifting shut as an exhausted sleep overtakes her...so she doesn't hear Gale passing nearly silently under her tree a few minutes later. After Gale passes her tree, he continues on, then stops suddenly as the first faint light of dawn begins to illuminate the forest. He bends down to examine something, then straightens up and smiles, looking all around him furtively.

He says one word clearly. "Katniss." The camera manages to zoom in on the object that he was examining so carefully - a simple wire twitch snare. One that Katniss had set the evening before.

Gale seems to make up his mind about something, as he turns and starts back in the direction that he came from. The cameras then dissolve to the Hunger Games studio and the tandem of Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman.

"So," Claudius begins, "the first Tribute death away from the bloodbath is recorded for the Seventy-Fourth Games - and the Gamemakers have credited both Cato and Gale with a half-kill each!"

"Very shrewd of the young man from District Twelve to wait and let Cato immobilize the girl first," Caesar adds. "Although it's only a half-kill, Gale Hawthorne is now on the board!"

I can't believe what I'm hearing. Gale put that girl out of her misery! It was obvious that she was in a lot of pain and what he had done was out of mercy - but to hear Claudius and Caesar talking, you would think that Gale's sole motivation was to get credit for a "kill!"

Claudius Templesmith is droning on. "And Gale appears to realize that Katniss Everdeen is not too far away. I can only speculate that his decision to retrace his steps was motivated by his desire to locate the Girl on Fire!"

"I agree, Claudius," Caesar says. "Perhaps we will soon have a reunion of the 'Coal-Dust Twins!'"

Mandatory viewing is over soon after that. Without a word, Poppa turns off the Holo-TV and follows my mother into their bedroom. I'm still moving slowly, so my brother beats me to our shared bedroom. By the time I get there he's asleep - or at least pretending to be asleep.

I've hardly spoken to anyone in my family since my talk with Poppa earlier in the day. From the poisonous looks that my mother keeps giving me I know that she's still angry, and Quinn is just plain uncomfortable around me. Even Poppa doesn't seem to know what to say to me. Our longest conversation that evening centered on my returning to work in the bakery the next morning.

I sigh into the darkness. Poppa said earlier that the Games change everyone, not just those directly involved. I'm afraid that he's right. I can feel the changes that have taken place with me already - of course, that stupid rumor had a lot to do with  _that_ , though.

I wince a little as I shift on the bed. My back is still tender but I have to do  _something_. I've always loved working in the bakery. Maybe that will be just the thing that I need. Maybe, with luck, I can find a little piece of my old self in the smell of flour and cinnamon. Maybe I can still be  _me_ , and not turn into something I'm not...all because of the Hunger Games.

**PART III**

The next morning was routine. My back is holding up well, although Poppa has insisted that my brothers do the heavy lifting today. Poppa, for the most part, still has me stashed in the back...but I'm happy with that. I've spent practically the entire morning decorating cakes. I almost feel like my old self. Almost.

So it was a shock to me when the Peacekeepers showed up again, looking for me.

I just happened to be out in front when they came. It was just about noon and Poppa had asked me to cover the counter for a few minutes while he grabbed a quick sandwich. They were the only people to come into the bakery while my father was gone. Two of them. One I didn't recognize...a man in his thirties. The other I knew only too well.

Peacekeeper Bellatrix Breccia.

Breccia looks at me, unsmiling, although with a triumphant look in her eyes. "You," she says commandingly. "You will come with us. Immediately."

I sigh. I know better than to try to resist, but I still want someone here in the bakery to know that I'm being taken away.

"May I ask why?" I ask, as I slowly remove my apron.

"No," Breccia says brusquely. "You will be told once you are at Peacekeeper Headquarters."

"I see," I reply, trying to keep the creeping fear out of my voice. "I've been working," I explain. "May I wash my hands before we go?"

"You may," the other Peacekeeper says, earning a sharp look from Breccia. I turn to the large basin behind the counter and take my time washing my hands, all the while hoping that  _someone_  - my father, one of my brothers, even my mother - comes up front before they haul me away.

Someone heard me. Quinn comes up front. "Peeta, Poppa sent me to -"

Quinn's voice trails off as he sees the two Peacekeepers. His eyes dart quickly between the pair and me. I turn and face my brother as I carefully dry off my hands.

"Quinn," I say, "My shirt is in back. Can you get it for me, please? I have to go with these officers."

Quinn nods, his eyes wide. He quickly disappears into the back of the bakery as I come around to the front of the display cases. I face the two Peacekeepers, looking a lot calmer than I actually feel.

"My brother's getting my shirt," I explain. "I hope that's okay."

"As long as he's quick about it," the male Peacekeeper says. Quinn returns at that moment with my shirt. Wordlessly he holds it out to me.

"Thanks," I say calmly as I shrug into my shirt. "Let Poppa know, will you?"

Quinn can only nod. I turn and face the Peacekeepers. "Okay, I'm ready, officers."

The Peacekeepers flank me, one on each side, as I walk out of the bakery. It's only a short walk to their Headquarters. It feels like the longest walk I've ever taken.

* * *

As I enter Peacekeeper Headquarters I catch a quick glimpse of a Seam woman seated in a small interview room. Although I only see her for a split second, I could swear that it was Hazelle Hawthorne.

I'm escorted into another interview room, similar to the ones where Darius questioned me - and where I was given the computerized polygraph test. Breccia gruffly tells me to sit. I sit.

And wait. And wait. And wait some more. My stomach growls, reminding me that I hardly ate breakfast and had no lunch as yet today. I have no idea how long I sat in that room.

Finally, the door opens. I have a brief surge of hope when I see that the first Peacekeeper to enter the room is Darius, but that feeling passes quickly as Bellatrix Breccia follows him in, accompanied by the same Peacekeeper that was with her when they came to the bakery earlier. The last to enter was the Head Peacekeeper, Commander Cray. They are all grim and businesslike.

I stand as they enter. I now see that the Peacekeeper that was with Breccia earlier is carrying a heavy-looking cloth sack. I recognize the sack as one that flour comes in.

Cray gets right to the point. "We conducted a search of Hazelle Hawthorne's house early this morning, based on a tip that we received from a confidential informant." Cray points to the sack that the other Peacekeeper is carrying. "Do you recognize this sack?"

"Yes, sir," I reply. "It's the same kind of sack that flour comes in. The same kind of flour that we use in the bakery."

"This sack, and others like it," Cray continues, "were discovered hidden in a crawlspace under the Hawthorne house. Hazelle Hawthorne has admitted to us that the sacks, and the contents of the sacks, are hers. You've stated that you recognize the sacks as being used flour sacks."

I feel a cold knot of fear grip my stomach. Wherever Cray was going with this, I have a feeling that it will not end well for me.

Cray nods at the Peacekeeper holding the sack. The man grunts slightly as he lifts the sack up and sets it down heavily on the table. As he sets it down it falls over, opening slightly, and spilling dozens of coins out onto the table in front of me.

I stare at the coins in horror. Sesterces. More than I've ever seen in my entire life.

Cray straightens up. "Peeta Mellark," he says formally. "Based on this new evidence, and by the authority vested in me as the District Twelve Head Peacekeeper, I am not only re-opening the case regarding your alleged violation of Article Two, Section Four of the Treaty of Treason...I am hereby finding you guilty on all charges."

I grip the edge of the table, suddenly unable to stand upright on my shaky legs as Cray continues. "Execution of sentence will take place this evening immediately following Mandatory Viewing." Cray pauses and turns to Darius. "See to it that public notice is made. All residents of District Twelve are hereby ordered to the Square for Mandatory Viewing and subsequent execution of sentence against Peeta Mellark." Darius simply nods and murmurs, "Yes, sir."

Cray turns back to me. "Mellark, you've recently received five lashes and loss of exclusion for an earlier charge and conviction for brawling in public. Therefore, your Class Two violation shall carry the following punishment - twenty lashes, loss of Tesserae privilege, loss of exclusion for your last Reaping, and twenty-five additional Reaping Slip for each of your last two Reapings." Cray turns to Breccia. "Officer Breccia shall administer the flogging. That's all. Take him to a holding cell."

This last was directed at Darius. Cray turns and beckons Breccia and the other Peacekeeper to go with him. The other Peacekeeper grabs the sack, stuffs the coins back inside, and quickly follows Cray. Darius takes my arm gently, but firmly, and leads me out of the interview room.

As we walk, I notice that the interview room where I saw Hazelle Hawthorne is now empty. Even though I feel light-headed and sick to my stomach, I still can't help but wonder what will happen to her, so I ask Darius.

He shrugs. "Technically, she did nothing wrong," he says. "They could charge Gale with accepting the money,  _if_  he wasn't already at the Games. They still could, if he somehow becomes the Victor - although Victors are given a lot of leeway where the law is concerned."

I refuse to think about that. Gale being Victor would mean that Katniss - no!

"The money, of course, will be confiscated," Darius continues. "Most likely it will be placed into the general fund. Regardless, Hazelle Hawthorne will never see so much as a single coin of that money again."

We arrive at my holding cell. I glance inside. It's hardly bigger than a closet. As Darius ushers me inside, I turn to him one last time.

"Darius," I whisper. "I don't know where that money came from. But it's not mine. I swear. I  _did not_  pay off Gale Hawthorne!"

"I believe you," he whispers back. "But there's nothing I can do. Nothing anyone can do." In a louder voice he says, "Alright, in you go."

I step into the cell. Just as the door slides shut I see Darius mouth, "I'm sorry." Then he's gone.

The realization hits me as soon as the door closes, and I barely make it to the toilet before I vomit violently. Tonight, in eight hours or so, I'm going to receive twenty lashes from someone that won't be going easy on me. Strangely enough, that's not what bothers me the most.

I've been convicted of paying off Gale Hawthorne. Innocent or not, I'll carry the stigma of that with me for as long as I will carry the scars of my imminent flogging.

For the rest of my life.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

**PART I**

_I open my eyes with a start. Some small noise has awakened me. I glance around the bedroom anxiously and - yes! There, silhouetted by the window, is the figure of a person. No - not just a person...a woman. I strain my eyes in an attempt to identify the mystery woman standing at the window. She makes no sound other than the almost inaudible sighing of her slow, even breathing._

_"Who - who's there?" I croak, staring at the still figure._

_I'm answered by a low, throaty laugh. "Do you really need to ask, Peeta?" The woman replies in a familiar, husky voice._

_"Katniss?" Even as I speak the name, a shaft of moonlight from the full moon hanging in the night sky suddenly illuminates the woman. The moon had been hidden behind thick clouds, but no more, as the clouds part. I gasp as Katniss Everdeen is revealed to me and I feel a familiar tightening in my groin as I stare._

_Katniss is totally naked._

_Katniss laughs again as I can only stare in wonder at the goddess that's been revealed to me. Her thick, dark hair tumbles in waves around her shoulders. Her breasts are small, firm, perfect globes, capped with dark nipples that, even in the dim light, I can see are erect. She's as small and petite as I have imagined her to be, her skin remarkably flawless. My eyes flicker down her body, past her perfectly centered navel, to focus hungrily on the sweet, dark center nestled between her thighs._

_"Snow's Beard," I manage to breathe, "You - you're beautiful."_

_Katniss smiles and runs her hands sensuously down her body as she steps to the bed. "I'm glad you like what you see, Peeta," she whispers. She reaches out and grasps the blanket that's covering me, pulling gently. A wave of shyness comes over me and I grip the blanket tighter. The last thing I want is for her to be offended when she sees the effect that she's had on me._

_Katniss pouts as she pulls on the blanket. "No fair, Peeta," she teases. "You've seen me...now I want to see you." My desire finally wins out over my shyness and I allow her pull the blanket down, revealing to her my engorged manhood. Katniss gasps a little as I'm revealed to her, then she smiles._

_"Oh, Peeta," she says, her voice suddenly even more husky with her sudden desire, "is that for me?"_

_In response, I hold my arms out to her as she willingly crawls onto the bed, then hungrily presses her body against mine as her mouth devours my mouth, her tongue eagerly swirling around mine._

_I groan into her mouth as I feel her breasts press against my chest, her nipples rubbing against mine. Her arms slide around me and I feel her fingernails scratch fiercely down my back, causing me to shudder._

_I groan with pleasure, then a sudden stab of pain from my back causes me to gasp. "Katniss!" I manage to choke out. "Not so...not so - rough!"_

_In response, Katniss digs her nails into my back deeper, raking them slowly down its length from shoulders to hips. Now I can feel blood trickling down my skin as her nails carve into my flesh._

_I half gasp, half groan in pain as I try to push her away. "No, Peeta!" she moans. "Don't! Don't push me away! You've wanted this for years! Take me, Peeta! Take me!"_

_"Katniss, no!" I moan. "No...it's too...you're hurting me! You're hurting me!"_

_"Peeta?" Katniss says, her voice suddenly changing. Now it's higher, more girlish. "Peeta? Are you all right?"_

"Katniss! No!" My eyes snap open, straining into the darkness. I'm laying on a hard, flat surface and - oh, Snow,  _my back!_  I moan loudly as I struggle to stand up, tears springing to my eyes as I feel a firm but gentle hand on my head, and another on the back of my neck, pushing me back down.

"Shhhh," a girlish voice says in the darkness. No, not complete darkness. A single candle sputters fitfully. I gasp again as another wave of pain shoots through my back.  _I'm on fire! My back's on fire!_

I sob as I collapse back onto the - where am I? Not a bed...it's a...table? Why am I laying on a table? Where's my father? Where are my mother and brother?

"It hurts," I moan. "It hurts bad."

"I know it does," the voice says quietly. I hear the sound of a chair scraping across a wooden floor as the owner of the voice finally comes into view - confusing me even more.

Primrose Everdeen.

I squint at her through my tears. "Prim?"

Her small hand brushes a stray curl of hair off of my sweating face. "Yes," she says. "You were having a...a dream. About my sister, I'd guess. You called her name out a couple times."

Even through the pain I can feel my face flush at the memory.  _I was having a dream, all right...a sex dream. About her sister!_

"Where am I?" I ask. Anything to change the subject.

"My mother's house," she replies. "In the Seam."

"Why...why aren't I at home?" I manage to croak out.

"Are you thirsty?" Prim asks suddenly. I realize that I am...incredibly thirsty, in fact. I nod.

Prim reaches behind her and grabs a chipped cup with a plastic straw sticking out of it. "Here," she says, guiding the straw to my lips. It's just tepid water, probably from the pump that I saw outside their house when I was there -  _only yesterday_ , I realize with a start - but I don't care. I drink thirstily.

"Thanks," I whisper when I'm done.

Prim just gives me a small smile in response. "What do you remember, Peeta?" she asks softly.

I frown. "They...the Peacekeepers...came and got me." I pause for a moment, wracking my brain, trying to remember. "I...they said that they found money...in flour sacks...in the Hawthorne house. He...Cray...told me I was to be..." I stop, squeezing my eyes shut, before continuing. "Flogged. They took me out that night into the Square. Everyone was there." I laugh bitterly, and then groan as a wave of pain shoots through my back. "Bellatrix...Breccia. She had the whip. She..." I break down into sobs, tears running down my face and onto the scarred tabletop.

Prim says nothing, just blots at my tears with a scrap of cloth, fixing her eyes onto mine. She lets me cry for a moment, and then says, "You never made a sound when she was whipping you. I think that really made her mad."

"Oh, great," I mutter. "I made Breccia mad. She probably hit me harder."

"You must have passed out at some point," Prim tells me. "They cut you down after they were done. Your father, brothers, and Delly Cartwright's father carried you back to your house."

"My house?" I stare at Prim, confusion filling my brain. "Then how -"

"Delly got my mother and I and we followed them to your house," Prim explained. "But your mother made them carry you here when my mother told her that you would need round the clock care from either her or I. She said that we couldn't stay in her house."

I let out a disgusted sigh. I'm whipped, unconscious, and bleeding - yet my mother balks at having two Seam residents stay at her house to take care of her youngest son.

"Figures," I mutter. "Did my father...I mean, I hope that he -"

"Paid us?" Prim finishes with a smile. "He brought us more flour and other baking supplies. At this rate we'll have bread through the Harvest Festival."

"I'm sorry," I say softly.

"For what?" Prim asks.

I take a deep, shaky breath. "You...you've got other things to worry about," I say miserably. "Katniss is in the Games and you shouldn't be having to take care of me!"

"Don't think like that," Prim says softly. "My mother and I - well, taking care of you takes our minds off of...you know."

I suddenly feel ashamed for not asking earlier. "How - how's she doing?"

Prim shrugs, biting her lip as she does so. "Katniss? She...she's had a...rough time. She was burned, and the Careers almost caught her, but she managed to climb a tree, and dropped a tracker jacker nest on them. She was stung, but Gale showed up and helped her get away."

"What?" I ask. "Prim, what time is it?"

"A little after two in the morning. Why?"

"All that happened since Mandatory Viewing?" I ask, thoroughly confused.

Prim looks at me for a moment, confusion on her own face, then I see some sort of realization dawn inside her. "Peeta," she says gently, "You've lost over two days. You were whipped two nights ago. You've been out for over fifty hours."

**PART II**

Prim quickly brings me up to date on what's been happening with Katniss and Gale. The morning after the incident with the girl from Eight, Katniss and Gale both were rewarded with rabbits in their snares. Katniss cooked hers over the coals from the dead Tribute's fire (the girl's body was long gone by then, although there were two blood stains on the ground where her body had laid), while Gale, reluctantly, risked building a fire of his own. Of course, by this time, it was light so Gale's only precaution was to make his fire as smokeless as possible.

Once they ate, both Katniss and Gale turned their priorities to finding water. By this time, they were both feeling the early effects of dehydration, as were the surviving Tributes from Five and Ten. The Careers had returned to their camp to sleep, Thresh and Rue from Eleven still seemed to be hanging on (although neither was very active), but Katniss and Gale were fading fast.

Gale found water first in the form of a river running through the arena. Katniss finally found a pond just a couple of hours after Gale discovered the river. Both of our Tributes were now hydrated and able to feed themselves.

Gale resumed his stalking of the Career Pack, returning to the edge of the forest to keep their camp in sight, while Katniss seemed content to move deeper into the forest, putting a lot of distance between her and the rest of the surviving field.

Gale busied himself during his Career surveillance by using the small folding knife to sharpen dozens of small sticks. He had also fashioned a sort of club out of a sturdy green sapling and the leg bone of an elk, which he had broken off to form a wicked point, and tied securely into the split end of the sapling. One end of the leg bone still had the ball joint that connected the bone to the hip. Gale had created a nasty weapon, capable of delivering a fatal blow no matter what end struck home, and impressed both Claudius and Caesar.

However, the Gamemakers were not happy with the lack of action, so they created some of their own in an attempt to drive the Tributes together. They set the forest on fire.

It was entirely Gamemaker controlled, of course, and had one purpose - to drive Katniss toward the Careers. It performed its task admirably.

Katniss was, indeed, flushed out and suffered a nasty burn on her leg ("I've seen burns like that on miners before," Prim had said. "I knew it was bad."). Worse yet, the Careers had spotted her and had her treed. However, Katniss, being small and light, was able to scale to a height that the Careers were unable to follow, and their efforts to shoot her out of the tree with a bow ( _Katniss's bow_ , I say to myself) were unsuccessful as well. Katniss even managed to taunt them on their lack of archery skills.

But the fact remained that Katniss was stuck in that tree, burned, and would eventually have to come down. But, as Prim continued to bring me up to date, three people came to her aid.

The first was Haymitch Abernathy, who  _finally_  sent her some medicine for her burns. It seemed to have an immediate effect on her, according to Prim...her relief was evident. The second was the little Tribute from Eleven, Rue, who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere in a nearby tree ("Like a ghost," Prim had said), and had pointed out a tracker jacker nest hanging directly over the spot where the Careers had made camp for the night. Katniss had busied herself, both that night, and again at first light, to cut through the branch so the nest would fall on the Careers camp. Rue took off at first light, moving swiftly and almost silently through the closely packed trees.

Her third savior was Gale...who had tracked the Careers and had watched them all night, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. One of the Careers had been on watch all night long, with that responsibility rotating among the two boys and three girls. As dawn broke, the girl from Four was on guard, but was visibly drowsy and fighting to stay awake. Gale certainly knew that there was no way he could successfully fight all five of them, even if they were asleep when his attack began...but maybe, just maybe, he could distract them and draw them off and away from Katniss - allowing her to escape.

Or so the Claudius/Caesar speculation went. No one really knew exactly what Gale's original plan was - because he attacked at virtually the same instant that Katniss finished sawing through the branch and the tracker jacker nest plummeted to the ground.

The girl from Four reacted a split second too slowly. She was clambering to her feet, clutching a machete and shouting out a warning even as Gale buried the sharpened end of the elk bone in the side of her neck. He jerked the weapon free and spun around just in time to see Glimmer, the girl from One, sit up, yelling for the others as she grabbed up her bow.

The heavy end of Gale's club connected solidly with Glimmer's face at the same instant that the tracker jacker nest hit the ground and burst open.

Gale spun and was off immediately, running at full speed away from the mass of angry wasps, slowing just long enough to scoop up the machete that the girl from Four had dropped. She was grabbing at her throat, her hands red with her blood, when the tracker jackers descended on her. Glimmer, stunned by the blow from Gale's club, was also unable to fend off the attack from the wasps. The other three - Cato, Clove, and Marvel - were able to roll to their feet and make their escape, running full speed for the lake, a cloud of tracker jackers dogging them all the way.

For Glimmer and the girl from Four, it was over very quickly. Their sting-bloated corpses, grotesquely deformed by the venom, lay twisted beneath the tree. Katniss, finally able to climb down from the tree, had also been stung several times and was fighting off the hallucinogenic effects of the venom. She was stumbling around, trying to free the bow and arrows from Glimmer's bloated hands, when Gale reappeared to help her make her escape.

"It was awful," Prim whispered. "I think Katniss was seeing our father...she kept calling out for him. She was having trouble getting the bow and arrows out of the blonde girls' hands also...until Gale showed up again."

Gale must have run just far enough to satisfy himself that the tracker jackers weren't following him before he doubled back. And a good thing that he did, too...because he arrived just moments before Cato did.

Gale managed to get Katniss moving before facing off against Cato. The Career had been stung several times and so was slowed by the venom that his body was fighting off...but he was well fed and well hydrated. On the other hand, Gale had not eaten well since the start of the Games and was still not completely recovered from his brush with dehydration.

In the end, neither Tribute was able to gain the upper hand, although Gale suffered a pair of nasty wounds...a deep sword cut to his left arm and a long gash to his chest. The only thing that saved him was a sudden tracker jacker hallucination that Cato was unable to fend off. Gale stumbled away and was quickly able to lose himself in the dense forest. Prim mentioned that he searched for Katniss for a while, but Katniss had crawled into some heavy underbrush and was unconscious - fighting her own battle with the tracker jacker venom.

"Katniss has been out for over a day," Prim explains, her soft voice shaking with emotion as she talks. "Rue - the girl from Eleven - has been keeping an eye on her. Rue's been putting some sort of chewed-up leaves on Katniss's stings. Gale's down by the river still. His cuts look really bad."

"You didn't need to stay up to tell me all this, Prim," I say.

"Yes, I did," Prim replies. "I...it helps to talk about it."

"If you say so," I say, forcing a smile as another wave of pain washes over my back. I grunt a little, my smile turning into a grimace. I groan again as I feel another urge building.

"Shit," I mutter. "I have to go to the bathroom."

Prim says nothing as she reaches under the table. I see her holding a chipped and battered ceramic-covered metal pan in her hands. "Can you raise up a little?" she asks.

"I'll try," I grunt as I pull my elbows underneath my arms and push. It's sheer agony but Prim quickly slides the pan under my hips and I settle back down. It's about that time that I realize that I'm naked except for a threadbare sheet covering me from the hips down.

Prim senses my embarrassment and discomfort. "Don't worry," she says quietly. "I didn't peek."

I say nothing but sigh in relief as I empty my bladder into the pan. Another wave of agony as I lift myself up again as Prim slides the pan out from under me. I settle back on to the table while Prim carries the pan outside, emptying the contents into the outhouse just outside the front door, then quickly rinsing the pan with the hand pump near the street.

A disturbing thought crosses my mind as Prim works, interrupted by a soft thump on the table near my head that causes me to flinch a little. I turn my head to see a small, yellowish cat staring at me, purring softly in the back of its throat.

"I see you've met Buttercup," Prim says as she comes back into the house. She shuts the door firmly behind her and slides the pan back under the table. She sits and reaches out, scratching the ugly little cat behind one ear.

"Hello, Buttercup," I softly say.

"He's been keeping an eye on you," Prim explains. "I don't know how he does it, but he somehow knows when your pain builds up. He'll start to meow and scratch at furniture until Mom or I come to check on you."

"He's a friend of mine, then," I say softly. "Just about my only friend, now."

"Not your only friend," Prim says quietly. I find myself suddenly blinking back tears. I didn't even know this girl two weeks ago and now, it seems, she's just about the only friend I have.

"Thanks," I whisper, then, "I need to ask you something."

"Sure, Peeta. What is it?"

"What happens when...I mean, you helped me with that pan just now - what I mean is, if I have to...really go, you know?" I stammer.

"It happened once, yesterday," Prim replies matter-of-factly. "Mom and I cleaned you up afterward."

"Oh," I say, suddenly ashamed. "I'm sorry," I whisper.

"Don't be," Prim says firmly. "My mother's a Healer, and I will be too when I grow up. These things happen."

My back suddenly twinges again, causing me to gasp in pain. "It's getting worse," Prim says. It was a statement, not a question.

"Yeah," I manage to get out through clenched teeth.

Prim glances at the clock, then reaches behind her, grabbing a cardboard box. "It's a bit early yet - but I think you can handle a three-quarter dose."

"Dose?" I ask. "Dose of what?"

"This," Prim says, holding up a small bottle, sealed at one end with a rubber cap. There's some sort of liquid inside the bottle. She pulls a syringe out of the box and deftly inserts the needle into the bottle, carefully drawing some of the liquid through the needle and into the syringe.

"What...what is it?" I ask.

"Morphling," Prim replies. "Madge Undersee brought it over to us the first night. It's her mothers. Her mother insisted that we take it for you."

_Two friends,_ I say to myself.  _If Madge is willing to donate some of her mother's morphling! No...maybe three friends, if Mrs. Undersee willingly gave up some of her precious morphling for me._

"I'll have to thank her when I see her," I say quietly. In the meanwhile, Prim picks up a bottle of white liquor, splashes some on a scrap of cloth, and then gently swabs an area on my back. Another sharp gasp, another muted apology. I barely feel the needle enter my skin.

The morphling is cold as it flows into my back, and the relief is almost immediate. I sigh as the pain killer courses through my body.

"I really don't know what we would have done without this," Prim says, holding up the small vial of morphling. "With it, we were able to keep you out for two days."

I yawn, feeling my eyes suddenly become heavy. "I don't know if I can stay awake much longer," I admit.

Prim carries the single candle to a small table next to a threadbare chair. Carefully, she sets the candle on the table, and then curls up in the chair, drawing a small blanket over her. "Don't fight it," she advises. "Let sleep come."

I'm too sleepy to respond. Those are the last words I remember Prim speaking to me that night.

**PART III**

When I next awaken, it's light out and I feel a pair of hands knowingly probe the wounds on my back. I moan softly, trying not to flinch away. The hands never stop moving.

"You're awake," a voice says. I turn my head and see Mrs. Everdeen standing by the table.

"I'm sorry I've been so much trouble," I mumble.

"Nonsense," she says, trying to keep her voice light. "You've been my best customer lately. At this rate we'll have bread for months."

I glance around the small room. "Where's Prim?"

"Milking her goat," Mrs. Everdeen replies. "She told me that you two talked earlier. She also said that you had a dream last night and woke her up."

"Yes," I reply, wincing a bit as her fingers find a particularly sensitive spot. I was hoping that Prim wouldn't say anything her mother about my Katniss dream.

"Well, morphling will do that to you," Mrs. Everdeen says quietly. "Give you unsettling dreams, I mean. I think the worst is behind you, though. You shouldn't need any more after today. Make sure you thank Madge Undersee for bringing it over...she risked being picked up after curfew, you know. And her mother deserves thanks as well.

"Yes, ma'am," is all I can think to say.

Prim comes back into the house at that time, carefully carrying a small bucket. She sees that I'm awake and smiles.

"Oh, good, you're awake," she says, setting the bucket on the counter next to the sink. "Are you hungry?"

"Not really," I admit.

"Well, you're going to eat something," Mrs. Everdeen says. "You haven't eaten in over two days. Prim, crumble up some bread in a little goat's milk."

"Okay, Mom," Prim says, turning to her task.

I feel my stomach churn a bit at the thought of eating as Mrs. Everdeen continues to work on my back. "The wounds have set nicely," she says. "I wish we still had snow on the ground...snow coat would be just the thing for your back. But, at least we aren't in the heat of the summer yet."

"Why's that?" I grunt, more to take my mind of the pain than anything else.

"Then, it would be all we could do to keep the flies off," Mrs. Everdeen explains. I shudder at the thought of flies crawling around on my wounds.

"I'm going to dress your wounds while Prim feeds you, Peeta," Mrs. Everdeen says. "There will be some pretty bad scarring, I'm afraid."

I shrug, wincing again at the new stab of pain that small movement caused. "Can't be helped," I groan. "You don't know how much I appreciate your helping me."

"You don't deserve to be treated like this," Mrs. Everdeen says quietly as Prim takes a seat by my head and carefully spoon-feeds me. The first couple of mouthfuls were hard to get down...until I realized just how hungry I really was. When I had emptied the bowl I was sad there wasn't more...and I said as much to Prim.

"You get more later," she says with a smile.

* * *

Mandatory viewing in the Everdeen house.

Mrs. Everdeen's Holo-TV was small and the projection quality was poor - but it was good enough to track the latest developments in the Games. There's only been one other death since Katniss dropped the tracker jacker nest on the Careers...the boy from District Ten, the one with the bad leg, was killed when he stumbled and fell off a cliff. That means just one thing.

Katniss and Gale are still alive.

In fact, Katniss has awakened from her tracker jacker venom induced coma and is now allied with the little District Eleven Tribute, Rue. And Gale, who's been nursing his sword wounds by the river, finally received his first sponsor gift...medicine to combat the nasty infection that he received as a result of those wounds.

The only problem is that Katniss and Gale are still not together.

By now, two things are obvious - Gale was sincere in his declaration that his main goal was to keep Katniss alive, and that the "Coal-dust Twins of District Twelve" had become the overwhelming favorites of the Capitol viewing audience during these Games - so much so, in fact, that the Capitolites were clamoring for a rule change to allow  _both_  Katniss and Gale to be declared co-Victors, if both survive to the end.

"Of course," Claudius Templesmith was saying, "Such a rule change would be unprecedented in the history of the Games!"

"Be that as it may, Claudius," Caesar Flickerman replied, "I've spoken with the Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, who has informed me that the Gamemakers have no intention of changing the rules, and that, in the end, only a single Victor will still be allowed...this in spite of the incredible pressure that Capitol citizens have been putting on the Gamemakers."

Shortly after this exchange, Katniss and Gale's "kill counts" were displayed on the projection. Gale has been officially credited with three half-kills for the Districts One, Four, and Eight girls, while Katniss has two half-kills for the Districts One and Four girls.

"Katniss would hate it if she knew that her 'kill counts' were the subject of such...casual discussion," Mrs. Everdeen mutters angrily.

Prim and I say nothing. The cameras are focused on Katniss and Rue...and they are discussing a plan to destroy the Careers' carefully hoarded supplies.

Earlier, Katniss had managed to shoot some sort of bird that Claudius Templesmith had identified as a "groosling," and she and Rue had feasted. Now, with their hunger sated and their thirst quenched, both girls hunkered down in Katniss's sleeping bag and discussed destroying the Career supply cache.

It seems that the boy from District Three that has allied himself with the Careers did so only because he was able to convince them that he could reactivate the landmines that were placed around each Tribute Launching Pad...and had proceeded to do just that. Now, the mines were carefully placed around a huge pile of supplies...and the boy from Three was allowed to live for a while longer. In fact, he guarded their camp when the Careers were away. But neither Katniss nor Rue had any idea about the mines.

Katniss's plan was simple. Rue would create a diversion to draw the Careers away from their camp. Katniss would creep in close enough and figure out a way to destroy the supplies...even if she had to put them to the torch. That way, Katniss reasoned, the Careers would be denied their huge supply of food and water and would be forced to forage for their supplies like all the rest of the Tributes...a task that none of them were really up to.

They would put their plan into operation the next day. Something else would happen the next day as well. Mrs. Everdeen informed me that I would be able to go home, as long as I returned to her house every day for a few days to get my dressings changed.

"And no work," she added sternly. "At least not until you no longer need the dressings."

The problem is...I'm not at all sure that I want to go home.

**PART IV**

I'm home. Mother is apathetic, Poppa is ecstatic, and my brothers have no idea what to say to their publicly flogged and humiliated brother. To tell the truth, I think I prefer that they not say anything to me at all.

There were three more deaths in the arena today, also.

After several days of no action, the plan that Katniss and Rue had put together to destroy the Career supply cache has piqued the interest of the programming staff at the Hunger Games Network to the point that they decided to broadcast the events as they occurred live. Hunger Games footage was normally edited and broadcast to Panem as a whole during the nightly Mandatory Viewing period, but this was considered worthy enough to air immediately.

This is what happened.

Rue was to light several decoy fires, using plenty of green wood to make each fire smoke. Just as Katniss predicted, the remaining Career Pack - Cato, Clove and Marvel, along with the boy from Three - went tearing off in the direction of the first fire. While Katniss moved into position, Rue quickly lit the second fire. She was moving to light fire number three when things started to go wrong.

Katniss had been watching the supply cache for maybe a half hour, trying to figure out exactly how it was being protected, when suddenly Finch, the girl from Five, darted out from the tree-line, picked her way carefully to the pile of supplies, quickly grabbed up some food, then picked her way back. This was the clue that Katniss needed. She realized that the mines around the Launching Pads (or "Pedestals," as Claudius Templesmith called them), had been dug up, reactivated, and then planted around the supplies. Katniss spotted a burlap bag of apples hanging over an area where fresh earth had been churned up. She began to shoot arrows at the bag. Her intent was clear. Split the bag, spill the apples, and detonate the mines.

She was successful with her third arrow.

Too successful, in fact. The force of the explosion blew her back into the forest. At the same time, Rue, on her way to light the third decoy fire, was caught in a falling net trap that had been placed by the Career Pack. By this time the Careers had realized that the fires were nothing more than a ruse to draw them away from camp, and they decided to split up to cover more ground while searching for whoever started the fires.

From the way he spoke, Cato had a pretty good idea who was behind the fires.

Marvel, the boy from One, stumbled across Rue in the net-fall trap while searching for Katniss. Cato had kept the boy from Three with him. He and Clove had both taken off in different directions to cover as much ground as possible.

Marvel's first reaction was to kill Rue, an easy target in the net...but he held up at the last minute. No one had seen Rue on the ground since the Games had started. There had to be a reason why. Marvel decided to hunker down behind a nearby tree and wait. If he was wrong...well, that little girl was not going anywhere. He had time.

In the meantime, Katniss had regained her wits enough to witness Cato kill the boy from Three in a fit of rage when he saw that their supplies had been destroyed. The boy, whose name I never really learned, was the first of three to die that day. Katniss didn't stick around to see what Cato was going to do next. She quickly shrunk back into the forest. From the way she was acting it looked like she was having trouble hearing after that huge explosion. She quickly began searching for Rue, becoming more and more agitated the longer she searched. Rue's screams eventually led Katniss right to her.

Marvel had been right. The cameras zoomed in on him as he watched Katniss fall to her knees next to the net-fall trap and quickly begin to saw through the ropes with her knife, quickly freeing Rue. Rue threw herself into Katniss's arms just as Marvel, hefting his spear, stepped from behind his tree. Katniss's back was to him. It would be an easy kill.

Except...Rue spotted Marvel and somehow managed to warn Katniss, who twisted away just as Marvel threw his spear...drawing, nocking, and firing an arrow in one smooth motion.

Marvel had a look of utter surprise on his face when he collapsed, Katniss's arrow buried deep in his throat. Within moments, the second cannon of the day goes off.

Katniss, however, was paying no attention. All of her attention was riveted on little Rue, dying from Marvel's spear buried in her stomach. Katniss stayed with her until the end, holding her hand, and singing a soft lullaby to her as the light slowly faded from Rue's eyes.

Cannon number three fires as Katniss cries.

What we saw next would be carefully edited out of Mandatory Viewing footage later...because what we saw was not supposed to happen in the Hunger Games. The death of a rival Tribute was supposed to call for a public display of celebration, in keeping with the finest traditions of the Games.

Instead, what all of Panem saw was Katniss grieving over Rue's death.

Katniss leans forward and gently kisses Rue's temple. Laying Rue's head carefully on the ground, Katniss jogs over to Marvel's body, pulls the arrow from his neck, and collects up his pack. She then returns to Rue and carefully, gently cuts the pack from Rue's back. She then quickly picks an armful of wildflowers, arranging them carefully around Rue's lifeless body. Katniss steps back, takes a final, long look at Rue, whispers something, then gives Rue the same three-finger salute that she received on the day that she volunteered for Prim.

Katniss then turns, walks away, and doesn't look back.

Later, as Katniss is making camp for the night, she receives her second Sponsor Gift of the Games. A small silver parachute drifts down. Katniss opens it and examines it curiously, then looks up at the sky and says, simply, "Thank you."

She pulls her gift out. It's a small loaf of bread. I recognize the shape immediately. I wouldn't be much of a baker's son if I didn't. The bread of each district was distinct, not only in taste and texture, but in appearance as well. There's no doubt in my mind where this gift came from.

District Eleven.

This gift was probably originally meant for either Thresh or Rue -  _Probably Rue,_  I say to myself - and re-directed to Katniss following Rue's death. Sponsor gifts from outside a Tribute's own district were virtually unheard of. Even Claudius and Caesar were at a loss for words.

Katniss, whether she wants to or not, is definitely making her mark on the Hunger Games.

Almost as an afterthought, Claudius brings us up to date on Gale. He's still hiding near the river, his infection and subsequent fever worse than originally thought - but he's used the medicine that Haymitch had sent him and, according to Claudius, was "Making slow, but steady, progress towards recovering from those nasty wounds."

Claudius also mentions something else. The Tribute Field was now down to six - Cato and Clove from Two, Finch from Five, Thresh from Eleven, and Katniss and Gale from Twelve. This means just one thing. Districts Two, Five, Eleven and Twelve could all expect media visits beginning the next morning for the customary Final Eight interviews.

That could mean just one thing where I am concerned.

Someone is bound to want to talk to me.

**PART V**

Early the next morning, I have an unexpected visitor in the form of Primrose Everdeen.

"Your mother isn't here right now, is she?" Prim asks fearfully as she enters the house.

"Don't worry," I reply. "She went with Poppa and my brothers to the train station to pick up a delivery of flour and other goods for the bakery. What brings you over here?"

Prim bites her lip as she perches on the edge of the threadbare couch in the living room. "I...I ran into Rory Hawthorne earlier. He told me something. Something I think you should know."

"What, Prim?" I ask.

"It's about Hazelle's - Mrs. Hawthorne's - money that the Peacekeepers found." Prim replies. "Rory told me that money was his mothers' life savings...she'd been putting away a coin here and a coin there for almost forty years. He said that his younger brother Vick is a friend of Leevy's little brother and that Vick told Leevy's brother about the money. Guess who Leevy's little brother is friends with?"

I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. "I can guess, but go on."

"Udo Donner's little sister," Prim finishes miserably. "Oh, Peeta...he  _knew_  about all that money! And it wouldn't have taken much to figure out where Hazelle - Mrs. Hawthorne - would hide it!"

"Shit," I mutter. Udo Donner  _again_.

Prim jumps to her feet. "I'm sorry," she stammers. "I can't stay. There's supposed to be a hovercraft landing in the Meadow later on this morning with a bunch of reporters and film crews from the Capitol. Mom wants me to take a bath and then wants to do my hair special. She's says they'll for sure want to talk to me. But I thought you should know about the money."

"It's okay," I say, standing up. "Thanks for telling me, Prim. Now go home and get ready," I finish with a grin.

Prim gives me a quick, careful hug before leaving. When she was gone, I sink back onto the chair I had been sitting in, feeling my mind doing a slow burn.

The Final Eight interviews are today - and Udo Donner has totally, completely fucked up my life.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

**PART I**

I'm dozing fitfully, lying on my stomach on the living room floor, when a soft knock at the front door rouses me from my restless nap.

All morning long I've been thinking about what Primrose Everdeen has told me, and the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Udo Donner found out about Hazelle Hawthorne's life savings and used that as proof that I paid off Gale. I really don't have a problem with him hating me...we've never gotten along and I've disliked him as long as I can remember...but he's now hurt an innocent family in his single-minded quest to discredit me.

I half-groan, half-sigh as I push myself painfully off the floor. I move slowly, carefully, towards the door. There's a second soft knock before I get to the door.

"I'm coming!" I call out. "Hang on!" Every movement is a new exercise in pain. What will I do in a few days when the school summer session starts?

I open the door to see a blonde woman, maybe ten or so years older than me, standing on the front stoop. Her entire look screams Capitol. One side of her head is shaven, with intricate tattooing on her head and trailing down the side of her neck, disappearing into the collar of her blouse. Small piercings in her eyebrow and nose, with larger, more intricate piercings in both ears. Her clothing is muted for a Capitol citizen, and I realize that she probably dressed down for her visit to Twelve. Her face is open and friendly, and oh, so familiar. She smiles warmly at me.

"Yes, ma'am?" I say. "Can I help you?"

"You're Peeta?" The woman asks. "Peeta Mellark?"

"Yes, ma'am," I reply, then, "And I've seen you before. On Capitol TV. You're Cressida." The realization hits me as I stand in the doorway. Cressida has been part of the "Final Eight" interview team for the past several Hunger Games. Unlike many of the reporters, she actually seems to care about the families and friends of the Tributes. I find myself returning her smile.

"Yes," she admits, almost reluctantly, it seems to me. "I went to the bakery first and your father said that I'd find you here. I'd like to talk to you, if I may. Do you mind if I come in?"

"Oh! I'm sorry!" I stammer, stepping aside for her. "Yes, please. Come in."

"Thank you," she says with another smile as she steps into the house. I look past her, expecting to see a camera crew, but she's alone.

"Please, sit," I say, gesturing to my father's favorite chair. She sinks gracefully into the chair as I grab a backless stool and carefully ease down on it. I suddenly have a thought and I look up at her guiltily.

"I'm sorry," I say, rising up from the stool. "Would you like something to drink? Tea, perhaps?"

"Oh, no, thank you," Cressida says with a laugh as she waves me back to my stool. "Your father was already a gracious host. He insisted on feeding my crew and I tea and some incredibly delicious cheese buns."

"Oh," I say. "Okay...but please let me know if you want anything."

"I will," she replies, then, "I've never been to District Twelve. This is my first trip here. Is the hospitality like this everywhere here?"

I shrug, wincing a bit at the pain the automatic gesture caused. "I guess so. I've never really thought about it."

"Well, I'm impressed," she admits. "No one here has failed to offer me and my crew something...even those that probably don't have a lot to begin with." She fumbles with her bag, pulling out a small electronic device. "I'd like to talk to you one on one before we actually record the interview. Basically, I'll get the most important questions answered now, and use our talk here as a script for the interview later. Okay?"

"Okay," I say nervously, wiping my sweating hands on my pants.

"Good," she says with another smile. "I've found it's easier to just talk to someone one on one first, rather than immediately stick cameras in their face. I hope that I'm not making you too nervous."

"It's just that...well, I've never really met anyone from the Holo-TV before." I admit.

"Peeta," Cressida says gently, reaching over to pat my hand, "I'm a human being, just like you. When I was your age I was working every day in my parents' clothing shop, just like you work in the bakery. Some food gives me dragon breath, other food gives me gas, and if I drink too much coffee I wear a path to the nearest bathroom. I put my pants on one leg at a time, just like you do." She pauses for a moment, seemingly making a decision about something before continuing. "Would it surprise you if I told you that I remember, vividly, everyone that I've ever done a Final Eight interview with?"

"Everyone?" I ask.

Cressida nods. "Yes. Every single one. They all had compelling stories to tell. And they all were unique, in their own special way...like you. The point that I'm trying to make here is that I'm not impressed with myself, or with other people like myself. Being on TV doesn't make me special. The special ones are the people, like yourself, that I get to talk to. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah...I guess it does," I reply.

"Good," Cressida leans back and smiles again. "Just remember, I'm the one indebted and grateful to you for allowing me to get a glimpse into your life. Now, let's begin with some basic information." She glances down at a PADD and taps the screen a couple of times. "We're recording...now." She presses a button on the side of the recorder, and then looks back up at me. "Your name is Peeta Mellark. You're sixteen years old. Your parents are Liam and Abigail Mellark; you have two older brothers...Alec and Quinn. Your family has owned the bakery for four generations -"

"Five," I correct softly. "Five generations."

''See?" Cressida says as she taps her PADD, "That's why talks like this are important. Five generations...got it. Okay. You were born in and have lived in District Twelve your whole life. School wrestling team...placed second all-school last year - impressive!" She glances at me and grins. "And this year at the Reaping, Gale Hawthorne volunteered for you. Let's talk about that for a moment."

"Okay," I say softly. I've been dreading this moment. I knew it would have to come up. I take a deep breath. "Go ahead."

"I've watched the footage several times," she says. "You were truly shocked that Gale Hawthorne volunteered for you. And later, as I understand it, you visited both Gale Hawthorne and Katniss Everdeen before they were taken to the Capitol."

"Yes," I admit. "I was shocked. Stunned, more like. Gale and I aren't friends...in fact we barely know each other. It wasn't until I visited him that I found out why he volunteered."

"Let's talk about your visit for a moment," Cressida says. "You say that you barely know Gale. I'm assuming that you don't know Katniss all that well either?"

I glance down at the floor for a moment, trying mightily to not blush. "No. No, I...don't really know Katniss either."

"Then why visit either one? Unless you were curious about why Gale volunteered for you." If I was blushing, Cressida gives no indication of it.

Quickly I explain my father's long-standing tradition of visiting each Tribute and giving them a small gift of cookies, and why he started the visits in the first place. "Of course," I add, "I was curious as to why Gale volunteered for me."

"And he told you? Just like he said during the Tribute Interviews?" Cressida asks.

I hesitate for just a moment before replying. "Yes. To watch out for Katniss."

Cressida regards me thoughtfully for a moment. "And that's the only reason?"

"Yes," I reply quickly...perhaps a little  _too_  quickly.

"Peeta," Cressida says gently, "I'm very good at reading people. That's part of what makes me so good at my job." She presses a button on the recorder. "I just shut the recorder off. Anything that you say now is what we call 'off the record.' Now...something - call it intuition, a feeling, whatever - something tells me that Gale's motivation goes way beyond a simple desire to save Katniss."

I stubbornly say nothing. "He told you more that what he told Caesar, didn't he?" Cressida asks softly. "Peeta...until this year, there hasn't been a Volunteer from a non-Career district since the Forty-Sixth Hunger Games, and  _none_  from District Twelve... _ever._  And suddenly, this year, there's not one, but  _two_  Volunteers?"

"He..." I begin, fumbling for the right words, "I...what he said to me I swore I would never tell anyone. What he told me was between him and I. I promised him that I wouldn't say anything. So please don't ask me to betray a confidence."

"I respect that," Cressida says. "And I won't engage in any on-air speculation regarding Gale...or you." She turns the recorder back on. "Like I said, I'm very good at reading people." She gives me a knowing smile. "So, where were we? Ahh, yes...I'm sure you've heard the clamor from various Capitol citizens to allow two Victors this year. The 'Coal-Dust Twins of District Twelve' have really caught the attention of a lot of people! What are your thoughts on the pressure that's being placed on the Gamemakers to allow dual Victors this year?"

We talked like that for a while longer, with Cressida asking harmless questions like how I felt about the "Coal-Dust Twins" doing as well as they have so far, and other things like that. She left after that, saying that she had to interview the Everdeens before returning to do our actual video-recorded interview.

The actual interview held no surprises...I simply just answered the same questions that I had answered earlier. Only this time, there was a pair of camera operators that Cressida introduced as Castor and Pollux recording everything. Her assistant, Messalla, a man about Cressida's age, had me sign a stack of release forms after the cameras were shut off. Shortly after that, the hoverplane bearing the Final Eight reporters took off from the Meadow, bound for the Capitol at high speed.

It was only after watching the Final Eight interviews that evening that I realized that not once had Cressida ever mentioned the false accusations against me, or the fact that I was still recovering from a flogging. For that matter, the subject didn't come up with anyone that had been interviewed - and especially not the Everdeens or the Hawthornes.

It's as if none of this nightmare that I have been living has never happened in the first place. But all that quickly became secondary as the Mandatory Viewing footage begins for the evening.

Gale Hawthorne is finally reunited with Katniss Everdeen. There's only one problem.

Katniss is hurt...bad.

**PART II**

Hunger Games Mandatory Viewing.

Not long after leaving Rue for the last time, Katniss had begun searching for Gale again. She had only a rough idea where he was hiding...only that is was someplace near the river. So intent was she on locating signs of Gale's presence that, at first, she totally missed the fact that she was being stalked.

The Gamemakers must have been inspired by the Final Eight interview with Prim. In the interview, she was holding her ugly little cat, Buttercup, and she had mentioned how much Katniss and Buttercup hated each other. This gave the Gamemakers and the genetics engineers a wonderful idea...to them.

Katniss looked up sharply from a footprint that she had been examining when she heard the cat's hiss and growl. She began to glance around nervously as the hiss and growl was repeated several times, from several different locations. And her eyes went wide as, one by one, dozens of Buttercup replicas appeared, their ears flat against their skulls, their bodies held low to the ground as they slink toward Katniss, noiseless except for the almost continuous low hissing and growling.

"Buttercup," Katniss whispers in horror as she watches the mutt-Buttercups slowly, menacingly approach. Katniss nocks an arrow with shaking fingers, slowly draws the bowstring back, and aims at the nearest mutt...and fires.

The mutt screams as the arrow skewers its body, the death scream echoed by every other mutt there as, in unison, they charge toward Katniss. Katniss quickly grabs another arrow, then realizes the futility...she would need dozens of arrows to stop these mutts. So she does the only thing that she can do.

She turns and runs.

She and the mutts are about evenly matched. Every now and then one gets close enough to nip at her leg. But I notice something strange...the mutts don't seem to really be interested in catching her. They seem to be intent on  _herding_  her towards something...or someone. We don't have long to wait to find out what. Katniss, running full speed, suddenly stumbles as her right foot crashes through a carefully concealed trap on the trail that she had been following.

Her agonized shriek follows immediately after her right foot and leg disappear into the hole. Her screams echo through the forest as the camera angle changes, showing everyone in Panem just what Katniss has stepped in to.

The hole is maybe half a meter or so deep...and is lined with dozens of sharpened wooden stakes. Small branches had been carefully laid over the hole, with dirt covering the branches. The trap almost disappeared when covered with a thin layer of dirt. It was cleverly made.

Gale Hawthorne had spent considerable time sharpening dozens of wooden stakes, and had found an elk shoulder blade that he had used as a passable, makeshift shovel. The trap...what Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman have identified, complete with old pictures, as a "punji" trap...had been set by Gale Hawthorne to catch an unwary Career.

Instead, it catches Katniss Everdeen.

It became quickly apparent that the mutt-Buttercups were there to merely herd Katniss into the trap, as they disappeared virtually the instant that Katniss fell in. Claudius and Caesar were going on and on about how the trap had been set to catch an enemy, but instead had ended up hurting a friend.

"This may be the beginning of the end of the 'Coal-Dust Twins!'" Caesar had said emphatically, looking grim.

Katniss was lucky in one way. As light as she is, the stake under her foot failed to penetrate the heavy sole of her boot, and others had glanced off the sides of the same boot, leaving deep gouges but nothing more.

Her calf wasn't so lucky.

Her calf, from boot-top to just below her knee, was punctured in a half-dozen places. Instinctively, Katniss tried to pull her foot out of the trap and only succeeded in driving the stakes in deeper, eliciting another scream of pain from her lips. Her blood was running freely down her leg to drip into the dirt at the bottom of the trap.

I barely make it into the bathroom before I throw up.

* * *

I'm left alone for a few minutes, not knowing whether or not I want to puke or cry, and end up doing both. Poppa is the one to finally come and get me.

"Peeta?" He says softly, knocking on the door twice.

"Yeah," I croak. I reach up and open the door.

"Come on out, son," he says gently. "Gale...he heard her. And the Careers didn't. He's on his way to help her."

I nod, hauling myself painfully to my feet. I wipe my mouth shakily and turn towards Poppa. "Poppa," I whisper, "Please don't make me watch her die. Please."

Poppa embraces me gently, being careful not to touch my back. "If...if it looks like...that," he says softly, "I won't make you watch. You can go to your room. And if the Peacekeepers object, I'll take responsibility."

I just nod as Poppa leads me back into the living room, just in time to see Gale arrive at his "punji" trap.

* * *

"Catnip," Gale breathes softly. "Oh, shit!"

"Gale," Katniss gasps, turning her tear-streaked face around at the sound of his voice. "Help me. Please."

Gale is by her side in a flash. He blanches when he sees her damaged leg, but says nothing.

"It's bad, isn't it?" Katniss asks plaintively. "Oh, Snow, it  _hurts_!" Katniss is gasping, biting off another scream as Gale examines her wounds.

He straightens up. "It's not as bad as it looks," he says confidently.  _Oh, Gale, you're not a very good liar,_  I say to myself.

Katniss isn't buying it, either. "Bullshit," she says through clenched teeth. "Gale...you need to leave. Leave me here. You can't -"

"Shut up," he snaps. "And listen to me. I'm  _not_  leaving you. Not here, not now, not ever. It took me this long to find you and I'm  _not_  walking away! Understand? Now, I'm gonna get you out of this hole and take you someplace fairly safe."

"How?" Katniss cries. "How? You can't, Gale!"

Gale squats down beside her and takes her face firmly in his hands, looking directly into her eyes. "Catnip, listen to me carefully. I know it hurts. But if I leave you, you'll die. And I refuse to let you die. Okay? Now, we're gonna have to leave the stakes in until I get you to safety. I found a cave near the river. We'll get you there, and then I'll figure out how to get the stakes out. I need your knife."

Katniss leans back on her elbows, wincing in pain. "It's...it's in my pack." Gale reaches into her pack, quickly finding the knife. He works quickly after that...using the knife to dig around each stake, freeing each one from the earth until, after a few minutes and several near-screams from Katniss, he's dug up all six stakes. Gale carefully replaces the knife in Katniss's pack, and then stands up.

"Okay," he says. "We're gonna stand you up. Don't put any weight on your bad leg."

He slides his left arm under Katniss's back, and his right under her right thigh. "No shit," Katniss mutters after he tells her not to put any weight on her right leg.

For the first time, Gale grins. "There's my Catnip," he almost whispers. "Okay, on three. One...two...THREE."

Another quick scream. A stream of curses through clenched teeth. And Katniss Everdeen is standing on one leg, supported by Gale Hawthorne.

"No way can you walk," Gale says as he easily scoops her up in his arms. It's obvious that Gale's not quite completely healed, and Katniss makes an awkward load, but somehow Gale manages to carry Katniss to the cave that he had found near the river.

Her tear-stained, whitened face betrays the agony that she's in...but she never utters a sound.

**PART III**

"I have to pull the stakes out," Gale says gently. "We can't leave them in much longer."

Katniss is laying on her back on her sleeping bag, her pack arranged as a lumpy pillow under her head. The light in the cave is dim, but we can see both Gale and Katniss clearly. It's obvious that Katniss is in agony.

"Just let me go, Gale," she says weakly. "There's nothing you can do. You tried. You really did. I know this. But you can't -"

"Will you  _shut up_  about dying?" Gale snaps. "I made you a promise. And I intend to honor that promise! And I sure as shit won't allow my trap to kill you!"

"Your trap?" Katniss asks softly.

Gale doesn't respond right away. "Yeah," he says miserably when he finally does reply. " _My trap_. The one I dug to catch a Career. The trap that they guy at the Traps station in training told me about. And it caught you instead." Gale looks at Katniss, twin tear tracks evident on his face. "So yeah. I'm not gonna kill you, Catnip. Not now, not ever."

"Gale," Katniss whispers. "I don't blame you." She laughs then. She actually laughs. "You have to admit, it's a damn fine trap!"

"You're insane," Gale says, shaking his head. "What's there to laugh about?"

"Better than crying," Katniss says logically.

"But not helpful," Gale points out. "How am I supposed to get those stakes out?"

"I heard in the Capitol that the doctors put people to sleep if they have to operate on them," Katniss replies, her voice rising up at the end as she fights off a new wave of pain.

"We don't have any Capitol doctors here," Gale points out, "or whatever it is they use to put people to sleep."

Claudius Templesmith chooses this moment to break in. "So, Caesar, we finally have the long-anticipated reunion of the 'Coal-Dust Twins,' but Katniss Everdeen appears to be in a very bad way."

Caesar Flickerman grins at the camera. "So true, Claudius! But, it seems that their Mentor, Haymitch Abernathy, is on top of the situation. Let's watch!"

The cameras cut back to Gale and Katniss in the cave. A soft tinkling sound from outside the cave signals the arrival of a sponsor's parachute. Gale scrambles up and out of the cave to retrieve the gift. Once back in the cave he opens the container to reveal a small bottle of -

"Sleeping syrup?" Gale asks, examining the bottle. Katniss pushes herself up on her elbows and looks at the bottle with interest.

"Yeah," she says thoughtfully. "Of course."

"This won't do you any good," Gale says disgustedly. "All it does it put you to sleep. One spoonful if you're tossing and turning, but you'll wake right up as soon as I try to remove so much as one stake."

"My mother uses it sometimes," Katniss says. "But she gives more than just a spoonful. What if I drink the whole bottle?"

"The whole bottle?" Gale sputters. "Are you crazy? It'll probably kill you!"

"Gale," Katniss points out, "If you can't get these stakes out, I'm dead anyway. Give me the bottle."

She holds her hand out insistently. At first, Gale hesitates, and then finally, reluctantly, drops the bottle in her hand.

Katniss takes a deep breath, then unscrews the cap, puts the bottle to her lips, and drinks the whole thing down.

She wipes her mouth shakily as she hands the empty bottle back to Gale. Even on the Holo-TV I can see her eyes quickly becoming glassy and unfocused.

"Gale," she mumbles, " please be quick." She coughs once, takes another deep breath, and then her head lolls to one side on her backpack.

Gale hesitates just a few seconds before firmly grabbing a stake, freezing at a moan coming from Katniss's mouth. He swallows heavily then pulls firmly until the stake is free. Gale does work quickly, pulling out the next five stakes over the next five minutes, then crudely and awkwardly bandaging Katniss's leg with a scrap of cloth that he tore from the bottom of his jacket. Katniss groans with every stake extraction, but her eyes never open.

Gale leans back after finishing the bandage job, wiping his bloody hands on his pants. "At least they didn't hit a vein or artery," he says, nodding at the pile of bloody stakes sitting next to Katniss.

The cameras cut back to the studio at that time. Claudius Templesmith says, "We'll check in with the 'Coal-Dust Twins' tomorrow morning. For now, rain has started to fall in the arena, and our Tributes are more concerned right now with staying dry rather than with killing each other." Claudius actually sounds disappointed. "So for now, this is Claudius Templesmith -"

"And Caesar Flickerman!" Caesar interjects with a big grin.

"- Signing off for the night. Goodnight, Panem. Happy Hunger Games...and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

"That's it," Poppa says as the announcement is made that Mandatory Viewing is over for the night. "Let's get some rest, huh?"

I'm still more comfortable sleeping on the floor, so I just remain where I am. Poppa, as usual, is the last to climb the stair to the bedrooms. Before he does, he leans down, kisses my forehead, and says quietly, "See? She's going to be all right, Peeta. Gale is looking after her."

"Goodnight, Poppa," I say.

"Goodnight, son," Poppa says as he climbs the stairs to the bedrooms.

As I drift off to sleep, only one thought keeps going through my mind.

Katniss is still alive.

**PART IV**

The next day, I have the Holo-TV on all day, and, for a change, I'm glad that I'm still not able to work, or that the summer session at school hasn't quite started up yet. Even though Mandatory Viewing isn't until tonight, the special Games programming that's on now is something that I wouldn't want to miss...mainly because I hope that someone on Katniss's team can figure out a way to help her.

Katniss's wounds are infected...she's getting sick...and without medicine she will certainly die.

Right now, Claudius Templesmith is speaking with some doctor from the Hunger Games staff about infections. "So, Doctor, if I understand you correctly, Katniss was exposed to this infection the instant that she stepped into the punji trap?"

"That's absolutely correct, Claudius," the doctor says. "And, in her weakened state...borderline malnutrition, dehydration, exhaustion, not to mention the burns that she received earlier in the Games and the tracker jacker stings...well, her immune system is simply not up to the task of fighting off any infection. Her health telemetry is monitored around the clock and her body temperature has risen by almost three degrees since yesterday."

"Is this sort of thing treatable?" Claudius asks, gesturing to a television monitor that's showing a real time feed of Katniss and Gale, both sleeping at the moment.

"Absolutely," the doctor replies. "Gale Hawthorne, her district partner, was successfully treated earlier with a common broad spectrum antibiotic and healing agent for his sword wounds, and he has healed nicely, with his body temperature hovering in the normal range. The key, of course, is to get her the medication."

"I see," Claudius says, then turns and faces the camera directly. "Do you hear that, sponsors? If you're supporting Katniss Everdeen, she needs your help  _right now_. The phone number to her direct sponsor line is on the bottom of your projection screen, and, don't forget, you can also donate at any Sponsor Kiosk...they're located just about everywhere here in the Capitol. Thank you again, Doctor, for being our guest today."

Claudius has perfect timing. No sooner did he wrap up his interview with the doctor did Katniss wake up. She yawns, stretches, groans, and fumbles for her water bottle. After drinking, she looks over at Gale, who's still sound asleep. She runs her hand gingerly over the bloody bandages on her leg, and shudders when she glances over at the small pile of bloodstained stakes.

"You did it," she says in a near whisper. Experimentally she moves her leg, gasping and choking off a yelp of pain as she does so, and waking Gale up in the process.

"Katniss?" Gale sits up. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she replies, then, "What did you call me?"

Gale frowns. "Katniss. I guess you were expecting Catnip, huh?"

Katniss shrugs. "I guess. It's just that you hardly ever call me Katniss."

"I'll be sure to work on that...Catnip," he says playfully, earning a smile from Katniss.

Gale pauses for a moment, seemingly suddenly embarrassed. He grabs his pack and starts to root through it. "Are you hungry?"

"I could eat," Katniss replies, somewhat listlessly, then she sits up a bit and grabs her pack. "I have some crackers and a little dried fruit."

"All I have is a little dried meat," Gale says. He glances toward the entrance to the cave. "It's pouring outside. Hunting's gonna suck today."

"Well, let's eat what we have," Katniss says. "Are there fish in the river?"

"Yeah," Gale replies. "Maybe I'll go out later. I have some line and a hook."

They split up their food and eat in relative silence. Their meager breakfast is soon gone. Gale glances outside again after they eat.

"Wonder what everyone else is doing right now," he says.

"Trying to stay dry, same as us," Katniss replies. She looks at Gale thoughtfully. "You know, Gale, this is the first chance that we've had just to sit since...you know."

"Yeah," Gale replies. "Of course, as mad as you were, I really didn't want to get too close, you know?"

Katniss chuckles softly. "See, you  _are_  smart," she teases, then, "But you know that I could never stay mad at you forever."

"Lucky for me," Gale says lightly.

They're quiet for a few moments, before Katniss speaks again. "So why did you really do it?"

"Do what?" Gale replies, his face a mask.

"You know what, Gale," Katniss says, a touch of irritability creeping in. "Volunteer to take Peeta Mellark's place."

"You know why," Gale replies uncomfortably.

"And I don't buy it, not for a second," Katniss says flatly.

Gale's silent for a moment before replying. "Everything I said during the Interview was the truth."

"But?" Katniss goads.

"But nothing," Gale snaps. "I volunteered to protect you!"

"Sure. Okay." Katniss snaps back.

"And I'm selfish," Gale says softly.

"No, you're not!" Katniss says sharply. "I've seen you down at the Hob. Especially with the little kids. No way you're selfish!"

"I was this time, when I volunteered," Gale admits. "How else would you describe someone that decides they would rather die than go on living without someone?"

"What the -" Katniss says, then turns wide, shocked eyes toward Gale. "Gale," she chokes out, "What are you saying?"

I can feel my heart pounding in my chest.  _He's really gonna do it. He's gonna tell her that he loves her!_

But Gale says nothing, just stares at the cave wall for several moments before he says two words.

"Oh, shit."

Katniss puts her hand to her mouth as she stares at Gale. Finally she says, "Gale, how -"

She never finishes her question. Gale suddenly spins away from the wall, grabs Katniss by her shoulders, and kisses her firmly. Katniss's whole body stiffens, and then relaxes as her hands ball up against his chest. Gale breaks his kiss, pulls away from her, looks directly into her eyes, and says, "I had to do that. I had to. At least once."

Gale then spins away from her again, wrapping his arms around his knees as he resumes staring at the cave wall. "You should drink some water," he finally says. "You feel warm."

Katniss stares wide-eyed at his back, her eyes suddenly shining with unshed tears. "Oh, Gale," she finally manages to choke out. "Oh, shit!"

"Exactly," Gale says bitterly. "Oh, shit."

* * *

The medicine for Katniss never comes. Hours pass, with Katniss and Gale barely speaking to one another. The only conversation they had was a brief one, centered on Katniss's alliance with Rue. Gale displayed no surprise at this revelation, even once remarking on the inevitability of a Katniss/Rue alliance.

"You said so yourself, Catnip, how much Rue reminds you of Prim," he had said.

Soon, however, they both lapse back into a stony silence, fueled, no doubt, by Gale's near admission of his love for Katniss. The programmers finally show other Tributes, but everyone, it seems, is preoccupied with the business of staying dry. Finally, Claudius announces that the "Coal-Dust Twins" are being sent a Sponsor Gift, and programming cuts back to the interior of the cave.

_Finally,_  I say to myself.  _Katniss's medicine_. But the container is much too large for a single syringe. Gale goes out into the rainstorm to retrieve it. When he brings it back in, both he and Katniss look at it curiously. It's obvious that they both expected some sort of medical supplies.

"It's food," Katniss whispers as Gale opens the container. "Lamb stew with dried plums!"

Gale tries hard to mask his disappointment, but then shrugs and says, "Well, we have to eat."

Disappointed or not, both Katniss and Gale tear into the food. It's the first real meal for both in days. They both eat with gusto. Gale even manages to joke that now he won't have to go fishing. Unfortunately for Katniss, her infection has made her sicker than anyone's realized. Within minutes of finishing her meal, she's doubled over the empty container that the food was dropped in, vomiting violently.

"You're so hot," Gale says quietly, brushing the hair from her face.

"I'll be fine," Katniss mumbles, shivering suddenly as her body is wracked with chills.

"Sure you will," Gale replies sarcastically. "You always puke after eating."

Katniss glares at him. "I just ate too fast, that's all." Gale says nothing, but kneels next to her and gently peels back her ripped pant leg.

"What are you doing?" Katniss snaps. She tries to jerk her leg away and softly screams in pain from the movement.

"Lie still," Gale orders. "I need to check your leg."

"It's fine," Katniss insists stubbornly. "Gale, stop!"

"Shut up, Catnip," Gale mutters distractedly as he unwraps the makeshift bandage. As the wounds come in to view, Gale swallows heavily, his eyes widening in horror.

"Damn," he breathes. One of the cameras in the cave zooms in on Katniss's leg. I can taste the bile rising in my throat as the camera pans over her calf, swollen and an angry red color, with pus running freely from each puncture wound.

Gale swallows again and gently probes Katniss's leg near one of the larger wounds, causing pus to burst from the puncture and run freely down Katniss's leg. Gale closes his eyes, rocks back, then abruptly turns his head and vomits violently. All the while Katniss stares at him impassively.

"I'm one of the ten percent," Katniss whispers softly.

Gale looks at her in confusion, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He steadfastly refuses to look at her leg. "What?"

"Remember what Atala said in training? 'Most of you will die from natural causes...ten percent from infection, twenty percent from dehydration.'" Katniss quotes, laughing humorlessly at the end. "I wonder who the other one point four are."

Gale whirls around angrily, but before he can say anything, a voice that is seemingly coming from all around them stops him cold.

"Attention," Claudius Templesmith's voice echoes through their cave. "Attention, Tributes. Tomorrow morning at sunrise there will be a Feast at the Cornucopia. This will be no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something desperately...and we plan on being most generous hosts. This will be your only announcement. Do plan on attending."

Gale glances at Katniss, and then forces himself to look at her leg. Katniss is leaning back, her eyes wide. Slowly and emphatically, she shakes her head.

"No," she says flatly. "No. You can't. Gale, they  _want_  you to go. Can't you see that? They want to force you into confronting Cato...or Clove...or Thresh. You  _can't_!"

By this time, tears are streaming down Katniss's face. Gale smiles sadly. "I have to, Catnip. I have to." Suddenly, without warning, Gale lunges forward, grabbing Katniss's bow, arrows and knife in one smooth motion.

"Don't want you getting any noble ideas," Gale says as Katniss sputters out her anger. "I'll leave these where you can reach them before I go."

"Gale -" Katniss pleads. "Please don't."

"Don't you get it, Catnip?" Gale asks wearily. "I was so pissed when Haymitch sent all that food, when it was clear that what you  _really_  needed was the same medicine that I got. 'Why didn't he send medicine?' I asked myself. But it all makes sense now. Haymitch sent us a  _feast,_ Catnip! It was a message...a message to tell us about  _the_  Feast, and that what you need will be there!"

"You can't go," Katniss says weakly. "I forbid it."

Gale laughs bitterly. "Catnip, you can't even  _move_  a half meter without screaming in pain."

Katniss settles back against her backpack and glares at Gale. "Damn you, Gale," she whispers.

"Get some sleep, Catnip," Gale mutters.

The scene in the cave fades out slowly, replaced by the grinning faces of Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman.

"Well!" Caesar says with a note of satisfaction in his voice. "A Feast will certainly stir things up!"

"Just as it's intended to, Caesar," Claudius replies with a grin. "Just as it's intended to. And what of the, shall we say, 'evolution' of the 'Coal-Dust Twins' relationship, hmmm? It certainly appears that Gale Hawthorne harbors more than 'protective' feelings for Katniss Everdeen!"

"Indeed!" Caesar says with a nod. "And this has led to an even greater cry to allow dual Victors in this years' Games...so much so, that Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane is going live from Gamemaker Central to address that very issue." Caesar pauses, pressing his earpiece into his ear as he listens intently. "Claudius, Seneca Crane is going live now. Let's watch."

The scene abruptly shifts to Gamemaker Central. Seneca Crane is standing behind a podium, his face impassive, and then begins to speak.

"Good evening, Panem. This is Seneca Crane, Head Gamemaker for the Hunger Games. I'm broadcasting this evening to address an issue that has apparently taken Panem as a whole, and the Capitol in particular, by storm. I'm speaking, of course, of the movement to allow dual Victors to emerge from this years' Games...specifically Katniss Everdeen and Gale Hawthorne. This movement began the night of the Tribute Interviews, with Gale Hawthorne's impassioned statement about doing all he can to ensure that Katniss Everdeen emerges as the Victor of the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games, and has reached a crescendo with his virtual confession of love earlier today." Seneca Crane pauses and looks down at the podium, seemingly gathering his thoughts before continuing.

"There's no doubt that the story of the 'Coal-Dust Twins' has captured the attention of the entire nation. Even a Head Gamemaker is not immune to the feelings that this story has stirred up in us all. Katniss Everdeen and Gale Hawthorne went into these Games as underdogs and their defiance of the incredible odds against them has touched each and every one of us. That being said, and speaking from my position as Head Gamemaker, the Treaty of Treason is quite specific regarding the rules of the Hunger Games. Only one Victor will be crowned." Seneca Crane glances down at the podium again, then back up quickly. "Katniss Everdeen and Gale Hawthorne have brought honor to District Twelve. But both cannot...will not...survive these Games. Only a single Victor may be crowned. These are the laws that all Panem must abide by. Thank you, goodnight, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

That's it. One  _might_  come home. But not both.

**PART V**

Feast Day.

I wonder if Katniss and Gale had as much trouble sleeping as I did. Last night I risked sleeping in my bed. I was comfortable enough...my insomnia came from worry rather than pain or discomfort. Still, I stayed in bed as long as I could...tomorrow school starts again, and I resume limited duty at the bakery. Quinn didn't help matters much this morning, being his usual loud self. I'm sure he's doing it on purpose, too...any feelings of pity that he may have had for me because of the flogging are long gone.

I stumble downstairs and immediately turn on the Holo-TV. The six remaining Tributes are just beginning to stir. I notice with amusement that Finch, the red-haired girl from Five, actually spent the night  _inside_  the Cornucopia, and was even now crouched down, eying the entrance from her hiding place deep inside the golden horn. But, for the most part, none of the Tributes are doing anything exciting.

However, I'm only interested in what two of the Tributes are doing, and, thankfully, most of the coverage is on them.

Katniss had apparently tried to convince Gale not to go one more time, because there was a stony silence in their cave. I have no doubts that their argument...or fight...will be aired tonight, during Mandatory Viewing. But, for now, Gale simply goes about making his preparations for the trek to the Cornucopia.

Katniss watches him through dull, lackluster eyes. I'm shocked at how sick she looks now. I also notice that Gale is moving slowly...the Capitol medicine may have cured him, and even healed his wounds...but it can't give him his lost strength back. He simply hasn't had the time to adequately recover.

"That's it," Gale says flatly. He's holding his machete in one hand, Katniss's bow, arrows, and knife in the other. "I'll leave these where you can reach them." He smiles at Katniss for the first time. "I'll be back before you know it."

"Gale," Katniss says, her hoarse voice a near whisper. "Wait. Come here for a second."

Gale frowns, then shrugs and sets Katniss's bow, arrows and knife down, safely out of her reach. He crawls over to her slowly.

"What -" he begins, but never finishes, as Katniss curls one arm around his neck and drags his mouth down to hers. She kisses him deeply, even hungrily, before letting him go.

Gale rocks back, clearly confused. "Katniss, what -"

"Go," Katniss says, her eyes shining. "Please. Now." Gale hesitates.  _"Go!_ " Katniss shouts.

Clearly confused, Gale stumbles out of the cave. He glances around furtively before heading off in the direction of the Cornucopia. He's quickly swallowed up in the pre-dawn darkness.

Inside the cave, a sick and dying Katniss Everdeen sobs uncontrollably.

* * *

Gale crouches at the edge of the forest, eying the Cornucopia. A table sits squarely in the entrance, four packs sitting enticingly on the tabletop. The packs marked with the numbers Two, Five, and Eleven are large, in marked contrast to the small nylon pouch marked with the number Twelve.

Gale knows what's inside. It's the same size as the package that brought the syringe filled with Capitol medicine. Inside that pouch is Katniss's very life.

Gale gathers his legs under him, taking several deep breaths in anticipation of the sprint to the table. He knows that there must be other Tributes in the area, hiding, waiting for just the right moment.

There! A flash of movement  _inside_ the Cornucopia diverts his attention as Finch sprints out, grabs the pack marked "5," and makes a mad dash for the tree line.

The sudden appearance of Finch spurs Gale into action. Perhaps he figured that Finch would distract any others in the area just long enough for him to grab the pouch and run. Gale sprints toward the table, moving much slower than he normally does. He reaches the table, grabs up the pouch, and slides the straps over his left arm. He's home free! He spins, gathers himself for the sprint back to the tree line...and the flat of a sword collides with the side of his head. Gale never even knew that Cato was there as well.

Gale staggers with the force of the blow, dropping to one knee as Cato steps forward, hefting his sword menacingly. Gale half-heartedly lifts his machete in defense; only to see Cato almost effortlessly slap the blade out of Gale's hand with a practiced flick of the wrist, then drive his knee into Gale's face.

Gale crawls away, blood streaming from his nose and mouth, as Cato snarls, "Oh, this is  _too_  easy, Twelve!" Cato almost contemptuously tosses the sword to one side, steps forward, and drives his fist into Gale's face.

Gale collapses in a heap. Cato kicks Gale hard in the side. I can hear ribs break even with the poor sound on the Holo-TV. Cato reaches down and rips the pouch off Gale's arm.

"What's this?" Cato asks with a laugh. "Fire Bitch get herself hurt? Aww, too bad!" Cato laughs again and casually tosses the pouch aside, then almost casually plants his foot on Gale's chest and pushes him onto his back.

Cato drops down onto Gale, straddling him as he tangles the fingers of his left hand in Gale's hair, pulling his head off the ground before viciously driving his clenched right fist into Gale's face over and over again. Blood spurts from Gale's nose and mouth as Cato releases Gale's head, causing it to thump against the ground.

Gale fights for breath, blood bubbling from his nose and mouth every time he exhales. Cato glances around and shouts a single word. "Clove!"

"Here!" Clove's voice is very faint and sounds far away, but Cato seems satisfied. He glances down at Gale again, a triumphant grin on his face. He doesn't notice Gale's right hand inching toward his right pants pocket.

"I've been trained well, Twelve," Cato sneers as he reaches into his jacket, pulling out a thin length of wire, a wooden dowel secured at each end. "It's all about the show, you know." Cato laughs cruelly as he quickly loops the wire around Gale's throat.

I feel sick. It's obvious what Cato intends to do. He's going to strangle Gale with that wire. Gale stares up at Cato impassively, his breath rattling in his chest. Cato, intent on his murderous task, fails to notice Gale fumbling with something in his right hand. A camera zooms in, giving us a close-up of the object in Gale's hand.

Gale's small pocketknife...and he's succeeded in opening the blade.

The blade is short...less than ten centimeters...but it tapers to a wickedly sharp point. Gale grips the small knife firmly, his eyes never leaving Cato's face. Cato grips the dowels firmly and slowly starts to pull, the wire tightening around Gale's neck.

"You should thank me, Twelve," Cato smirks. "You're about to become a legend."

Gale speaks for the first time, his voice thick and labored, but very clear. "You first," he says as he drives the knife upward into Cato's left armpit.

Cato's eyes widen in shock and pain and he drops the dowels, his right hand instinctively clutching at the knife wound as Gale jerks the knife free. The knife and Gale's hand are drenched in Cato's blood as Cato bellows in pain, his head thrown back. Gale struggles to hang on to the knife as he clumsily, awkwardly drives the blade up and into Cato's exposed throat.

Cato jerks away from Gale, the small knife buried in his throat. His left hand dangles uselessly, the entire arm now streaked with his blood as his right hand gropes frantically at the knife in his throat. He chokes and gags as he lurches off Gale, falling to his knees as Gale, gasping, feebly pulls the wire from around his neck and painfully rolls away from Cato. Cato's doubled over by this time, the knife still in his throat as he coughs weakly, spraying the ground with his blood.

Gale crawls away, finding the small nylon pouch and sliding his left arm through the straps once again, then turns back toward Cato, looking at the dying Tribute with his one good eye. The other eye is swollen shut from Cato's brutal beating. Cato has collapsed onto his side, his breath coming in short, panting, bubbling gasps. His bloody mouth moves but he makes no sound. Gale lurches to his feet, one arm clasped protectively around his shattered ribs, and coughs weakly, spraying his own blood into the air.

Gale turns toward the tree line, apparently satisfied that Cato no longer poses a threat, and staggers away. He's left his knife in Cato's throat and his machete lies on the ground, forgotten. He's just made it to the edge of the forest when the cannon sounds.

"He did it," my brother whispers in awe, watching a battered and bloody Gale stagger into the forest. "He beat a Career."

"That boy's a survivor, he is," my mother chimes in. I look at her in amazement. That's the nicest thing I've ever heard her say about any Seam resident. Gale is walking a little stronger now, still obviously in pain, seemingly searching for something. Absently I hear Claudius say something about Gale searching for the trail leading back into the forest, and Katniss.

"He's gonna do it," my father says quietly. "He's gonna make it back to her."

The words are barely out of Poppa's mouth when Gale is attacked by Thresh.

* * *

Before the Reaping, before the Games, Gale and Katniss were both near-legendary hunters here in District Twelve. And when the Games began, it was very apparent to even the most casual of observers that the 'Coal-Dust Twins' could move swiftly and silently through the forested arena...as Gale demonstrated time and again with his tracking and stalking of the Career Alliance.

But that was then. This Gale has been wounded, hungry, sick, and under incredible stress to not fail in his single-minded task to make sure that Katniss makes it home alive. How else can I explain how Gale was surprised, not once, but  _twice_ , by other Tributes on Feast Day?

Thresh had waited until the fight between Gale and Cato was over before making his own dash for his Feast prize. He barely even looked at Cato's corpse as he snatched his backpack off the table...then grabbing up the District Two pack as well. Clove still has not made an appearance...perhaps she and Cato were overconfident of Cato's abilities. Regardless, Thresh now had the pack meant for District Two as well as his own.

Thresh did pause briefly at Cato's body, just long enough to jerk the small folding knife from his neck. He carefully cleaned it off on Cato's jacket, then folded it and slipped it into his pocket. The sword and machete he ignored.

He didn't ignore Gale.

Thresh spotted Gale in the tree line, seemed to hesitate for a moment, then went right after him. He caught up with him easily, running him down from behind. What happened next would be the subject of much debate.

Thresh carried his own machete...a blade that he was no doubt familiar with from working in District Eleven...and was raising it as he closed on Gale. With Thresh's strength, all it would take was a single killing blow and it would be all over. But that's not what happened.

Perhaps Gale heard him at the very last second. Perhaps Thresh had a change of heart. But Thresh ended up hitting him with the handle of the machete rather than the blade.

Gale grunts at the impact and goes down. Thresh kicks him in the side...the same place that Cato had just minutes before...causing Gale to grunt and wheeze in pain. Almost nonchalantly Thresh rips the pouch from Gale's arm and opens it.

Thresh frowns; looking at the syringe nestled in the cushioned box. "Medicine?" He asks.

Gale nods weakly, still fighting to breathe through his tortured ribs. "Yes," he gasps out.

Thresh shakes his head. "And you ain't used it yet?" He asks incredulously. "Don't know if you know this, Miner, but you don't look so good. Or are you just fuckin' stupid?"

Gale shakes his head. "Not...for me," he manages to say. He coughs, bloody sputum dribbling down his chin. "Katniss. For Katniss."

"Hmmph," Thresh grunts, hefting the box thoughtfully. "So, she don't get this, means she dies?"

Gale nods. "Yeah," he manages to choke out. "She got hurt...because of me. She fell into a trap that I dug."

Thresh stares at Gale for a moment before saying, "Bad luck for you both, then. Nothing personal, Miner. Close your eyes...I promise to be quick."

Thresh steps forward and raises his machete as Gale stares up at him with his one good eye. "Katniss allied with Rue."

Thresh stops abruptly. Gale coughs weakly, more blood running down his chin. "If this is a trick, Miner," he growls menacingly, "You'll regret it."

Gale shakes his head weakly. "No trick. Katniss dropped a tracker jacker nest on the Careers. She got stung. Rue helped her. Katniss killed Marvel after Marvel speared Rue. She stayed with Rue...held her hand and sung to her as she died."

Slowly Thresh lowers his machete. "Truth?" he asks.

Gale nods slowly. "Truth."

Thresh examines Gale's face closely, then slides the machete into his belt and holds out a hand to Gale. Gale hesitates for a moment, then grasps Thresh's hand and allows the huge Tribute to help him up. Thresh fishes in his pocket for a moment, then pulls out Gale's folding knife and hands it to him.

"Yours?" Thresh asks. Gale nods as he takes the knife. "Yeah," he says. "Thanks." Gale shakily slides it into his own pocket.

"Fire Girl helped Rue, so I help you to save Fire Girl. We're even, Miner. Nothing owed." Thresh says solemnly.

"Nothing owed," Gale repeats. "Thank you." Wordlessly Thresh slides the boxed syringe back into the nylon pouch and hands it to Gale, who slips it on his arm.

"You better go now, Miner," Thresh says quietly. Gale nods. As he turns to leave, Thresh suddenly grasps Gale's hand and shakes it while saying, "I hope I never see you again."

A small smile creases Gale's battered face. "Same here." Gale turns and, without another word, heads into the forest. In seconds, the dense growth swallows him up.

The cameras follow Thresh as he turns and, shouldering both packs, steps out of the forest and into the tree line. He takes a final glance around, then, satisfied, turns in the direction of his camp.

He only takes two steps before a knife blossoms from the back of his neck.

* * *

Clove trots up to Thresh even as the huge Tribute sinks to his knees, choking and gagging from the knife protruding from his neck. The packs slip down his arms, thudding softly into the ground. Clove stops behind Thresh, bringing up something in both hands high above her head as she spreads her feet apart, steadying herself.

The sunlight glints off the blade of Cato's sword, now in Clove's hands, as she brings the sword down viciously onto Thresh's head. The blade buries itself in his skull as his choking and gagging abruptly cease. He falls forward onto his face, the sword still buried in his head.

He never saw who killed him.

Clove reaches down and jerks her knife from Thresh's still twitching body and wipes it contemptuously on the back of his jacket, then straightens up and peers into the forest.

"I owe you, Fire Bitch," she spits as the cannon booms. "For Cato."

**PART VI**

It was almost dark, and well into Mandatory Viewing, by the time Gale finds the cave again.

Truthfully, it's a miracle that he managed to even make it back. Every time they showed him on camera he looked worse than the time before. Only four Tributes remain, and Clove is the only one still relatively healthy.

Finch, the girl from Five, is half-mad from hunger and from the pressure of the Games. She's more like a feral animal than a human at this point, peering out from her makeshift shelter, startled by every little sound.

Katniss is delirious with infection-induced fever, lapsing in and out of consciousness. It gives me chills listening to her calling out to people...her father, Rue, Gale, even her sister, Prim...thrashing about wildly. Claudius Templesmith brings the Hunger Games doctor back on his show, who gravely informs us all that Katniss Everdeen will most certainly be dead by morning if Gale is not successful in getting the medication to her.

And then there's Gale. The Hunger Games doctor informs Claudius that, according to Gale's tracker telemetry, Gale has suffered a broken nose, broken cheekbone, shattered ribs, and that one of his broken ribs has punctured one lung, resulting in the bloody froth that coats the lower part of his face. The doctor's prognosis for Gale isn't much better than it was for Katniss.

But Gale persisted, finally, painfully, dragging himself through the near-invisible cave opening. He crawls to Katniss, removing the pouch and pulling out the boxed syringe. With shaking hands, he removes the safety caps, presses the syringe to the side of Katniss's neck, and pushes the button on the top of the auto injector.

There's a loud snapping sound as the needle buries itself in Katniss's neck. With trembling hands Gale holds the syringe against her neck until another, softer snap announces that the syringe is empty. Gale pulls it away from her and lets it drop to the cave floor before collapsing next to her.

"I did it," he whispers. "I did it."

* * *

I rise early the next morning. Today not only do I return to the bakery, but I also go back to school, along with every other child in District Twelve.

Mechanically I go about my tasks, trying to make every excuse that I can think of to work near the small TV in the bakery, but there's no news to report from the Games. For once, even my mother's sharp tongue is curbed...everyone in my family, it seems, is aware of how deeply I'm affected by these Games.

Finally, it's time to get ready for school. I'm dreading this moment. I've been able to hide myself away ever since the first ugly rumor surfaced, but there's no hiding in school. I sigh, quickly washing up and getting dressed in my school clothes. I find myself envying Quinn, my older brother. At eighteen, he's out of school and will be working in the bakery all day.

For me, there's no place to hide.

The walk to school is a lonely one. I almost always walk to school with Madge and Delly...but apparently they both left for school earlier than normal. I find myself hoping that I somehow run into Primrose Everdeen on the way...at least she will talk to me...but I don't see her.

Once in class I find it almost impossible to concentrate. And I'm not the only one. Many of my classmates are distracted. No one says anything to me about the rumors, or the money, or my flogging. No one says anything to me at all.

Finally, a little after ten that morning, a runner, ashen-faced, comes into the classroom and wordlessly hands the teacher a note. The teacher nods her thanks, opens the note, turns pale herself, and then stands up.

"Attention, class," she says, then pauses as we all put our pencils down and look up from our work. "I have a Hunger Games update to share with you." She pauses again before continuing.

"The medication that Gale Hawthorne obtained at the Feast yesterday is working. Katniss Everdeen is alive and well, and her wounds are healing quickly, and her strength is quickly returning."

The room erupts in cheers at the news. I feel tears stinging my eyes.  _She's alive. SHE'S ALIVE!_

"However," the teacher continues, with a hitch in her voice, "I must sadly report that Gale Hawthorne, Katniss's alliance partner, has succumbed to the injuries that he received yesterday during the Feast." She pauses again and looks up, tears rolling down her face.

"Gale Hawthorne was officially reported dead by the Gamemakers fifteen minutes ago."

The room goes from bedlam to dead silence in a heartbeat, and I'm acutely aware that, one by one, every pair of eyes in the classroom are now fixed on me.

Gale's done what he set out to do...keep Katniss alive. And now, with only three Tributes left, at least he didn't put her in the impossible position of possibly having to kill him herself.

But now, as I feel every eye in the classroom staring accusingly at me, I find myself wishing fervently that I could trade places with Gale Hawthorne.


	7. Chapter 7

**BOOK III - DESCENSION**

**Descension - To descend**

**CHAPTER 7**

**PART I**

_Mandatory Viewing - The Death of Gale Hawthorne - District Twelve Male Tribute - Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games_

_Gale Hawthorne stumbles back into the cave that has been sanctuary for both him and his district partner, Katniss Everdeen, since her horrific injury a few days prior. Gale has risked life and limb to obtain a syringe of life-saving medication for Katniss at an event known as a Hunger Games "Feast." He's obtained her medication...but the cost was prohibitively high._

_The cost was his life itself._

_Nearly beaten to death by Cato, the hulking District Two Male Tribute, and having his injuries aggravated by an encounter with Thresh, the District Eleven Male Tribute, Gale barely manages to make it back to the cave. There he finds Katniss Everdeen delirious and near death. Fearing that even the miraculous Capitol medicine won't be enough to save her, he nonetheless injects her with the full syringe straight into her neck, and then collapses next to her. He's done everything that he can do. All that remains now is to wait._

_"I did it," he murmurs in satisfaction. "I did it."_

* * *

_It may seem strange to the casual observer that one Tribute should risk so much to save another, especially since there can only be one Victor. But never before in the previous Seventy-Three Hunger Games had a Tribute announce, before the Games even_ started _, that their stated intention was to ensure that their_ district partner _survive the Games...and later on, all but announce that they were in love with the very same district partner that they intend to save, even at a cost of their own life._

_Gale Hawthorne did both._

_Not only that, he_ volunteered _to be Tribute, replacing the Reaped Tribute, Peeta Mellark, after Katniss Everdeen had volunteered in place of her sister Primrose. These dual volunteers was unprecedented for a small, poor district such as District Twelve...and this Tribute pair quickly became the most popular pair ever to come out of Twelve, and one of the most popular in the history of the Games. In fact, they were quickly dubbed the "Coal-Dust Twins of District Twelve," and, for the first time in many years, sponsor money flowed quickly and easily for the District Twelve Tributes._

_Both Tributes did remarkably well in training, with Gale Hawthorne earning a very high training score of Nine, while his partner Katniss Everdeen pulled an almost unprecedented Eleven...the highest training score for these Games. The District Twelve Mentor, Second Quarter Quell Victor Haymitch Abernathy, was immediately awash in Sponsor donations._

_Once launched, both "Coal-Dust Twins" acquitted themselves admirably...surviving the bloodbath, living off the land, and killing quickly and efficiently when killing was necessary. Now, with both grievously injured, they face their biggest challenge of these Games._

_And only one would survive._

* * *

_Katniss Everdeen awakens feeling refreshed and well. Her fever has gone...broken sometime during the night. The horrendous, sickening infection from the six puncture wounds on her legs was healing at an incredible rate. She was hungry, and thirsty, and very much alive. And totally horrified when her eyes fall on the beaten, disfigured face of Gale Hawthorne, lying next to her, barely breathing._

_"Gale," Katniss breathes, her eyes widening in horror as she sits up. "No...Great Snow, NO!"_

_Gale Hawthorne stirs and, with effort, manages to open his one good eye and peer at Katniss._

_"Hey, Catnip," he says weakly, and then coughs, spraying a fine, bloody mist into the dank air of the cave._

_"Don't talk," Katniss orders, her eyes brimming with tears. She crawls to the mouth of the cave and looks up toward the sky. "Haymitch! HAYMITCH! Help! Help him!"_

_There is, of course, no answer. Weakly, Gale reaches out toward Katniss, managing, just barely, to grab her foot._

_Katniss ducks back inside the cave, turning back towards Gale. She reaches over and grabs her water bottle, nearly empty now, and then her knife. She cuts a strip from her sleeping bag, pours a little water on it, and gently begins to wipe Gale's face._

_"You're gonna be fine," Katniss stammers, dabbing blood from Gale's swollen face. "Do you hear me? Haymitch will send medicine for you. He'll send a parachute and -"_

_"Catnip," Gale's soft voice stops Katniss cold. "He's not...there won't be any parachute." Gale coughs again, groaning in agony as bloody sputum covers his chin and chest._

_"Don't talk like that! You WILL be fine! You can't...you can't..." Katniss is crying openly now, pouring more water on the sleeping bag scrap and dabbing at his face again, until Gale reaches up and, with surprising strength, grabs Katniss's wrist._

_"Catnip." His voice is barely above a whisper. "Stop." He manages a crooked smile. "Remember what I said at the interview?"_

_"Yes," Katniss chokes out, tears rolling down her face. "And I'm STILL mad at you for volunteering!"_

_Gale suddenly takes a deep, shuddering breath and moans as a spasm of pain shoots through his body, but he never lets go of her wrist. Finally, he loosens his grip enough to let his hand slip down into hers. Katniss grips his hand tightly in both of hers._

_"I...I did it, Catnip," Gale is speaking with effort now. "I got you where you needed to be. And stop talking about getting me medicine. These are the Games, Catnip. There's only one Victor." He looks at her solemnly with his one good eye. "I...it hurts so bad, Catnip. Please. Let me go. I'll be fine. I promise."_

_"No," Katniss moans. "Gale, I...I can't. Damn you anyway!" She buries her face in his chest, shoulders shaking with her sobbing._

_"You have to," Gale says simply. He grips Katniss's hand tightly._

_Katniss lifts her head up, stares at Gale's face for a moment, then leans forward and gently, tenderly, kisses his battered mouth. Her lips move, just barely, as she whispers something to him that makes him smile._

_The smile is still on his face when the cannon sounds._

* * *

_According to the medical experts that Claudius Templesmith interviews, Gale Hawthorne literally drowned in his own blood. His punctured lung slowly, inexorably filled with his own bodily fluids. No amount of miracle Capitol medication would have been able to save him. Only emergency surgery could have halted the processes that eventually killed him. According to the doctors, it was nothing short of a miracle that he managed to survive as long as he did._

_Katniss, her head on Gale's chest, jerks slightly as the cannon goes off, but she doesn't move for several more minutes. Finally, she sits up, her face devoid of expression, and gently closes his one good eye. Then, working slowly and painfully (her recently healed leg was stiff and sore from lack of use), Katniss removes Gale's belt, loops it under his arms, and then, using all of her strength, she manages to drag his body out of the cave and into the sunlight. Katniss is panting and ashen-faced by the time Gale's body is completely out of the cave, but she doesn't rest._

_Katniss gently lays his arms over his chest, one hand over the other, clasped in front of him. She checks his pockets quickly, searching for anything that may be personal...a district token, perhaps...but Gale didn't bring a token into the arena. What Katniss finds is his folding knife._

_She holds the blade close to her for a moment, then slips it into her own pocket, moves a little bit away from his body, then sits and waits. She doesn't wait for long._

_The hovercraft appears as if by magic, moving almost noiselessly. It stops and hovers over Gale's supine body, a claw slowly lowering from its belly. The claw opens, settles over Gale, then closes, almost gently, and slowly begins to rise. As the claw rises back into the hovercraft, Katniss stands up, looks up at the hovercraft, then kisses the three fingers of her left hand and slowly extends her hand towards the hovercraft as the claw disappears into its belly._

_This act by itself was not significant. Indeed, those in District Twelve would have expected no less from Katniss Everdeen...in fact, everyone watching in Twelve repeated the same gesture. What was truly amazing was that the District Twelve Salute was repeated in_ every single district  _in Panem as Gale's body was lifted into the sky._

Every  _district...and those that were watching in the Capitol as well._

_Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman were quickly back on the air, gushing about Gale's courage, his selflessness, and his incredible sacrifice. What remained unspoken was the fact that what Gale Hawthorne had done completely flew in the face of everything that the Games was supposed to represent...that every Tribute fight for themselves alone. A single Tribute from the most insignificant district in Panem had done something that no other Tribute...or Victor, for that matter...had ever been able to accomplish in the previous seventy-three Games._

_Gale Hawthorne had, in death, earned the respect of virtually everyone in Panem._

* * *

_Katniss Everdeen wastes no more time on mourning her dead once the hovercraft disappeared from sight. She ducks back into the cave, emerging moments later with her bow, arrows, and knife. She inspects her bow with a critical eye, carefully arranges the arrows in their quiver, and, with the aid of a rounded rock from the river, quickly puts an edge on her knife. Almost as an afterthought, she takes Gale's folding knife out, extends the blade, and strops it quickly back and forth over the same stone, running her thumb lightly over the edge and wincing slightly as the blade slices into her skin._

_Replacing the knife in her pocket, Katniss then limps down to the river (her leg, still stiff, was becoming more and more limber the more she walked on it), strips her filthy clothing off, and quickly rinses the soiled garments off in the clean, rushing river water. Laying her clothes out on a warm, flat rock to dry, she then immerses herself in the cold water, unbraiding her hair and running her fingers through her thick tresses as she repeatedly dunks her head under the water, then scrubs her hands and arms with handfuls of wet river sand, removing every trace of Gale's blood from her skin._

_Katniss sits on another warm rock, naked, and carefully re-braids her hair, then rummages through the last of her and Gale's meager shared supplies. As she and her clothes dry, she eats the last of the crackers and dried fruit. Hardly enough for a meal, but enough, with water to wash it down, to take the edge off of her hunger._

_Katniss doesn't intend on remaining in the arena long enough to get truly hungry again._

_She dresses quickly and gathers up her bow, arrows, and knife. She leaves the packs and sleeping bag at the mouth of the cave. She knows she will not need any of these supplies again._

_Without a backward glance, Katniss heads away from the river and toward the Cornucopia._

_Win or lose, fail or succeed, die or become Victor...Katniss Everdeen is determined that the Games end today._

**PART II**

When Gale's death is announced, I expect the worst. Attacks from his friends. More dog shit thrown on my front door. Cruel remarks said to others and meant for me to overhear. Yet another visit from the Peacekeepers on some new fabricated charge.

What I don't expect is to be completely ignored as if I no longer exist.

For the rest of the school day, no one says a word to me unless it is directly related to schoolwork. And, after receiving those accusatory stares, no one even looks at me either. No one, that is, with the exception of four people.

Twice I catch Udo Donner smirking at me, safely surrounded by his circle of friends. I've never wanted to kill anyone in my life before...but that's all changed. I would happily accept whatever punishment the Peacekeepers deemed appropriate for the pleasure of having a hand in Udo Donner's death.

Delly catches my eye at lunch as I sit by myself, morosely picking at my sandwich, my appetite gone. She briefly flashes me a sad little half-smile before turning back to her friends.

Madge Undersee does the same during the afternoon session. The teacher was droning on and on about the history of coal mining in our little corner of Panem. Madge was sitting in the seat directly to my right. I hear a low, almost inaudible  _psst_  and look over at her. She silently adds the words  _"It'll be okay"_  to her smile. I just shake my head and turn away. I doubt that it will "be okay" ever again.

The last person is Primrose Everdeen.

To my surprise, Prim waits for me after school. I bundle up my battered textbooks and dejectedly begin walking toward town. The Seam lies in the opposite direction. So I was surprised when I find her waiting on the corner nearest the Square...and town.

At first, like all the rest, she doesn't make eye contact with me. I just assume that she is waiting for one of the younger Merchant girls that she's a friend with. Prim is a rarity in District Twelve...universally accepted, and even loved, by virtually everyone, whether they be Merchant, Seam, or even Peacekeeper. It's only when I cross the dingy street and head toward the Square that I realize that Prim is shadowing me.

I slow down a step or two to allow her to catch up. She falls in beside me and, without a glance towards me, asks softly, "How's your back?"

These are the first words anyone has spoken to me since Gale's death was announced.

"I'll live," I mutter curtly in reply.

"I can come by later if you need your dressings changed." Her meaning was clear. She would be willing to come to Town to save me a trip into the Seam.

"Don't bother," I snap irritably, and immediately regret my tone. Prim doesn't seem to notice.

"Peeta," Prim says softly. "I'm on your side. But I don't blame you for how you feel."

I stop and turn to her. She stops as well, looking up at me, clutching her textbooks to her chest, concern in her eyes.

"Prim," I stammer, "I...I'm sorry. I shouldn't be taking  _anything_  out on you, of all people."

"Don't worry about it," she replies with a small smile as she reaches out and touches my arm gently. "Today was...a hard day. Rory and Vick were allowed to go home from school early."

"For what it's worth," I say softly, "I'm really sorry about Gale."

Prim nods in response. "Thank you, Peeta. I should be getting home. See if there's any more news about Katniss."

"Sure, of course," I say. Prim turns to leave. "Hey," I call out softly. Prim stops and looks back at me.

"She's coming home, Prim," I say firmly.

Prim nods again, quickly, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she abruptly turns back around and hurries off toward the Seam. She doesn't look back again.

I watch her until I can't see her any more, and then finish my short walk home. No one is in the house when I enter, which isn't all that surprising. I dump my

textbooks up in my room and quickly change into work clothes, tying an apron around my waist and hurrying out of the house and into the bakery.

I enter through the back, like I always do... _the same door that Katniss and Gale always came to when they wanted to trade_ , I say to myself...and enter the bakery, with its familiar, comforting smells. Alec and Quinn are hard at work.

"Here," Alec says, handing me a job sheet. "Poppa said to keep you on light work for now."

I take the sheet and scan it quickly. Several dozen cookies to decorate and a special cake order for the Peacekeeper barracks. "Where are Poppa and mother?"

"In the office," Quinn replies with a grunt as he brushes by me, a sack of flour slung over one shoulder.

As if on cue, the office door opens and Poppa sticks his head out. "Peeta," he says, his voice taking on an uncharacteristically grim tone, "I need to see you for a moment."

Frowning, I step into the office as Poppa shuts the door. My mother is seated next to the desk, visibly upset. Poppa returns to his seat behind the desk and sits down heavily.

"Is everything all right?" I ask, glancing from Poppa to mother. Poppa picks up a stack of papers on the desk and wordlessly hands them to me. I glance at the top page quickly, noting the seal of the Ministry of Finance centered on the top of the page.

"We were served this by a Peacekeeper today," Poppa says. "It's a tax lien for unpaid business taxes. The Ministry of Finance says we owe almost two thousand Sesterces in back taxes, dating back to when I took over the bakery."

I stare at the paper in amazement. Two  _thousand_  Sesterces? Poppa continues on as I read the paper, not understanding one word in three.

"We have ninety days to pay, or we lose the bakery," he says miserably. "And don't say anything to your brothers about this. They don't know, and the less people that know, the better."

"I don't understand," I say, handing the papers back to him. "What does this have to do with me?"

Poppa looks at me miserably. "There's...there's a way to reduce the bill ninety percent," he explains slowly. "It's on page five. If we have children of Reaping age, they will be allowed to take out 'Fiscal Tesserae' for each family member involved in the business."

What Poppa is saying finally starts to sink in, as well as why he doesn't want my brothers involved in this. They are both past Tesserae...and Reaping...age.

"I can't take Tesserae," I say flatly. "That was part of my 'punishment,' remember? Loss of Tesserae privilege."

"You can't take out Tesserae for grain or oil," Poppa explains softly. "But you can for this, as you won't be receiving anything for it. Your mother already checked with Commander Cray."

"I bet she did," I snap, glaring at my mother. "So, if I understand this correctly, I can take out Tesserae for myself and my parents -"

"Your brothers also," Poppa adds. "It's for all family members involved in the business."

"Oh, that's even  _better_!" I can feel the anger welling up inside me. " _Five_ Tesserae, and I get nothing out of it! Is that what you're asking me to do? Take out five Tesserae so you don't lose the bakery?"

"You're almost right," my mother says flatly.

"Oh?" I ask sarcastically. "What part did I miss?"

My mother smiles at me coldly. "We're not 'asking.'"

**PART III**

Mandatory Viewing, this time coming to us live from the Capitol.

My head is still reeling with the news about the bakery and what I "have" to do in order to help save it. Five Tesserae, heaped on top of the twenty-five extra slips that will be in the bowl as part of my earlier punishment, and the six that I would have anyway for my sixth Reaping, all adds up to thirty-six Reaping Slips in the bowl next year for the Third Quarter Quell Reaping...and sixty-seven for my last Reaping the year after. Gale Hawthorne had forty-two slips in the bowl for his final Reaping.

No, the odds will definitely not be in my favor.

Tomorrow, after school, Poppa and I go to the Justice Building so I can sign the paperwork for my "Fiscal Tesserae." Tonight we watch the recap of Gale Hawthorne's death.

Afterwards, we watch Katniss stalk away from the cave, her face grim and determined...until she falters, about halfway to the Cornucopia, and then stops dead in her tracks. She slides under the drooping canopy of a nearby tree, the determination on her face replaced by a more thoughtful look, then she squats down, takes the arrow that she had nocked to her bowstring, and starts to write in the dirt.

_What is she doing?_  I say to myself as I, along with Poppa, mother, and Quinn, watch her. We see her ticking off...something...on her fingers, then scribble some more. She examines her writing carefully, and then sits back, uncertainty etched on her face.

"Katniss Everdeen looks confused, don't you think, Caesar?" Claudius Templesmith asks with a smirk.

"Indeed, Claudius," Caesar replies. "Remember, she was delirious for the bulk of the feast and for most of the night after Gale Hawthorne returned to her. Unless I miss my guess, she's confused as to how many Tributes are actually still alive at this stage of the Games."

"And I don't think that Gale Hawthorne ever told her that he killed Cato," Claudius adds. "And of course, Gale wouldn't have known about Thresh being killed by Clove."

"So, as far as Katniss is concerned, she could be facing four Tributes instead of just two!" Caesar adds emphatically.

"With no way for her to know for sure exactly how many are left," Claudius adds with a grin.

Claudius and Caesar are still debating this when a silver parachute gently floats out of the sky.

* * *

Katniss eyes the open container with a confused look on her face. The parachute lies crumpled off to one side. The small delivery cylinder contained a single cardboard container. And inside the container were...

Crackers.

Katniss gazes up at the sky through the thick canopy of branches. She's taken refuge under the same tree where, earlier, she had been writing  _something_ in the hard-packed earth. Katniss spreads her hands in a universal questioning gesture and shrugs her shoulders.

"Crackers," she mutters, picking up the small handful of thin, square biscuits. "What are three crackers supposed to do? This isn't even a part of a meal."

Still, I know that this late in the Games, those three crackers probably cost as much, if not more, than that Lamb Stew feast that Katniss and Gale had shared a few days before. Katniss nibbles the corner of one cracker thoughtfully as she examines the other two, then looks in the delivery cylinder again, searching for...a message, perhaps? But direct messages from Mentors to Tributes was forbidden, even in a Sponsor Gift. Katniss shakes her head and takes another bite.

"Three crackers," she mutters again...then stops and stares at the small pile. "Three...crackers."

She looks up at the sky again, a small smile on her face. "Haymitch, you're a genius!" She quickly stuffs the remains of the first cracker in her mouth, and then gathers up her bow. She kicks dirt over her writings before ducking out from under the canopy of branches. Stepping back into the sunlight, she stuffs the last two crackers in her mouth and nocks her arrow to the bowstring again before setting off towards the Cornucopia.

"She's figured it out," Claudius is saying. "Three crackers...three remaining Tributes. She knows, Caesar. She knows."

"And that, Claudius, is a perfect illustration of the mental stresses that a Tribute must overcome in the Games," Caesar adds. "Katniss Everdeen would have figured out such an obvious clue in a second on the first or second day of the Games. But now, well, you could see her confusion."

"Well, she knows what she's up against now," Claudius says. "The only thing that she doesn't know is which Tributes are still alive."

At that moment on the split screen transmission, the scene from the arena begins to grow darker. Katniss stops dead in her tracks and looks up at the sky, then puts her head down and continues walking...but quicker now, as an unearthly howl suddenly echoes through the arena.

"It appears that the Gamemakers have one final wrinkle to throw into these Games," Caesar says with undisguised glee. As he speaks, I see Katniss reach the edge of the forest, the Cornucopia in plain sight. She crouches down, watching the Cornucopia carefully as another howl, this one much closer, splits the gloom. Katniss casts a nervous glance behind her, and then focuses her attention on the Cornucopia again. Suddenly, she leaps to her feet and begins to run awkwardly toward the gleaming horn, obviously favoring her recently healed leg, just as a crashing, splintering noise erupts from the forest to her left.

It's the Finale.

**PART IV**

Katniss, still weakened from her recent injury, is about halfway to the Cornucopia when a snarling off to her right causes her to slow and spin around, then stop entirely and quickly raise up her bow.

Clove bursts from the tree line and is running full force toward Katniss. Katniss doesn't hesitate. In a single fluid motion, she draws, aims, and shoots, her arrow flying straight and true, directly for Clove's heart.

And bounces right off the Tributes' chest.

Katniss quickly nocks another arrow, her eyes narrowed in confusion, when another figure bursts from the forest, also running full speed toward Katniss. Katniss draws her arrow back, sighting down the shaft...and hesitates.

Finch, the girl from District Five, is sprinting for all she's worth, her face a mask of pure terror. For an instant Katniss is seized by indecision as her arrow wavers between Finch and Clove...but it becomes obvious that neither Tribute is paying Katniss any attention...and Katniss soon sees the reason why.

Huge wolves burst from the forest behind each running Tribute, with a third group emerging from where Katniss had been just a minute before, and were charging at full speed toward the three Tributes.

Katniss hesitates no longer. She draws her arrow back and shoots. The arrow strikes the wolf closest to Katniss and it goes down in a howl of pain and fury. Katniss doesn't wait to see the results of her shot, however. She's turned and is running toward the Cornucopia before the arrow strikes home.

I can feel my own heart pounding in my chest as the three girls reach the Cornucopia only seconds ahead of the three wolf packs. The cameras zoom in on the wolves as they close with the last three Tributes...and I notice something strange about them.

They're all wearing collars...and they don't look exactly like wolves are supposed to look. They're all different colors, from a golden yellow, to brown, to black. Three are much bigger than the others...one a dark yellow, one dark brown, and the last, biggest one has jet-black fur. And, as the cameras linger on the animals, I notice something else about them...and gasp.

They don't have wolf eyes. Their eyes are completely, one hundred percent human.

Katniss is barely off the ground, standing on a curl toward the tail of the Cornucopia, when she stops, turns, and fires three arrows towards the charging mutt-wolves...for it's now obvious that these aren't ordinary animals...and watches as three more of the snarling, howling beasts tumble to the ground, their screams of agony almost human.

Finch scrambles past Katniss in her single-minded quest to reach the top of the Cornucopia. Katniss grabs another arrow, nocks it, aims at a huge, dark brown mutt-wolf charging straight for her...and stops, her eyes going wide with terror...and recognition.

" _Gale!"_  Katniss gasps. "GALE! NO!" Katniss quickly shifts her aim, opting instead to target the next mutt-wolf in the pack...this one with pale yellow fur and green eyes that blaze with hatred even as the arrow pierces one of those perfect eyes...and scrambles up the side of the Cornucopia, pulling her feet up just as the pack literally slams into the side of the horn, leaping and snarling at the three Tributes in their panicked climb to safety.

The cameras zoom in on the wolf that Katniss refused to kill, now pacing angrily at the base of the Cornucopia. It was a huge animal with fur such a dark shade of brown as to be nearly black. Its gray eyes blaze with fury as it snarls and snaps...and, on its collar, is a metal tag with the number "12" stamped on it.

I feel sick. There's no doubt about it. This mutt-wolf was once Gale Hawthorne.

Off camera, Claudius Templesmith is explaining how the Games genetics engineers used the DNA sample from each Tribute to create these monstrosities..."werewolves," he called them. Claudius further explained that, even though the mutts had many of the attributes of the fallen Tributes, such as hair color, eye color, and size, that the bodies of the Tributes themselves were not disturbed in any way.

"The fallen Tributes, with their sacrifice, have earned the right to be able to rest in eternal peace," Claudius concludes, even as a mutt-wolf...the smallest in the pack, with jet black fur and the number "7" on its collar tag...almost succeeds in leaping to the top of the Cornucopia before sliding back down.

Katniss doesn't even notice. She's standing at the tail of the Cornucopia, her scalp bleeding from a fresh knife wound, her bow drawn full, blinking rapidly to keep her own blood from blinding her...while, five meters away, Clove has her left arm firmly locked around Finch's neck and shoulders, holding the struggling red-haired girl from District Five in front of her, her right hand gripping a knife, cocked back, ready to throw.

Katniss continually shifts her aim, looking for an opening,  _any_  opening, as Clove effectively keeps a squirming Finch between her and Katniss.

It's a standoff.

* * *

Finch continues to struggle against the bigger, stronger Career, until Clove tightens her arm around the smaller girls neck, saying almost conversationally, "Stop fighting, or I kill you now. And shut up."

Finch gasps and stops moving. Clove grins. "Good girl," she coos. "If you're lucky, you'll get second place. You know what second place is, Red?"

Finch shakes her head twice, mumbling, "N-No."

Clove never takes her eyes off of Katniss as she leans close to Finch's ear and says softly, "Why, second place is the first loser, you stupid fucking bitch."

Finch moans, her eyes glazed in fear, as Clove turns her full attention on Katniss. "Well, Fire-Bitch. Here we are. Just you, me, and this useless piece of shit here."

Katniss blinks again, widening her eyes against the steady flow of blood that threatens to blind her. She says nothing.

"I have to admit," Clove continues conversationally, "You impressed the fuck out of me...making it this far and all. You Twelves are usually only good for cannon bait. That was our one mistake...underestimating you and your boyfriend."

Katniss's eyes narrow when Gale is mentioned, but she still says nothing.

"I have an idea," Clove says with a grin. "Being as these mutts -" her eyes flicker down toward the pack of slavering werewolves "- can't seem to jump  _quite_  high enough to get to us...on purpose, I imagine, otherwise we'd all be mutt food by now...let's play a game, you and I."

"What?" Katniss speaks for the first time.

"A game, dumbass," Clove explains patiently. "What, don't they play games in Bumfuck, Panem?"

Katniss clenches her jaw before replying. "We play games." She practically spits every word.

"Oh,  _goody_ ," Clove laughs. "And here I thought you weren't gonna be any fun!" Finch starts to squirm again until Clove knees her roughly in the back. "Knock that shit off, Red. You make me lose my balance and we  _both_  go over. That would be bad...for you."

"And not for you?" Katniss asks, venom dripping from her voice.

"And here I thought you had a couple of brains, at least," Clove says in mock disappointment. "I would have thought you'd figured it out when you tried to shoot me earlier."

"Body armor," Katniss says softly.

"Ding ding ding ding ding!" Clove practically shouts. "See, I  _knew_  there was no possible way that you were as stupid as you look. I even told Cato that very thing! 'Cato,' I said, 'There's no fucking way in hell that Fire-Bitch is as dumb as dirt, no matter what you think!' Yes, body armor! Our little Feast prize and it's already come in handy."

"So what's the game?" Katniss snaps.

"Ahh! The game!" Clove says with a grin. "It's called 'Who's Fastest.' The rules are simple...because there aren't any." Clove giggles. "You have two arrows left. I have two knives left. The only place you can shoot me is my head, which, as you can see, is hidden behind a  _shitload_  of red hair. So I'm fairly safe. The only way you can get to me is to kill Red, here -" her arm tightens around Finch's neck, causing her to whimper "- because then she'll be dead weight and I'll  _have_  to drop her."

Clove shifts a bit, sticking her knife point into Finch's earlobe, causing her to cry out in pain. "I told you to knock off that fucking squirming! There, that's better. Now, where were we? Oh, yes. You shoot Red, I have to drop her, and that's when the game gets interesting. Can you nock, draw, and fire your last arrow,  _and_  make it a head shot, before I have the chance to stick you with at least one of my blades?"

Katniss glares at Clove. "I'm betting no," Clove continues. "But we'll have to find out eventually. Can't stay up here forever, you know." Clove puts her lips near Finch's bleeding ear. "Sorry, Princess. No matter what happens, it doesn't look like you'll be first loser after all."

Finch sets her face in a stony expression. Her eyes and Katniss's eyes seem to meet for a split second. "I think you forgot something," Finch says quietly.

"Oh?" Clove says mockingly. "And what's that, Princess?"

"For all this to work," Finch says as she tenses up, "you need my cooperation...you stupid fucking  _bitch!_ " And, as the word "bitch" comes out of her mouth, Finch opens her mouth wide, ducks her head down, and sinks her teeth viciously into Clove's exposed hand, while stomping down on her instep hard and throwing her weight to one side.

Clove screams in pain as blood spurts from her hand and her eyes widen as the sudden weight shift causes both girls to topple heavily to one side. Even as Clove drives her knife into Finch's chest, the off-balance load of the two Tributes teeters on the edge of the Cornucopia for a single, long second...and then both tumble heavily to the ground...and the mutt-wolves...below.

Katniss's eyes go wide as she sees the two girls, locked together, tumble off the Cornucopia. She scampers to the side and looks down just as the first mutt-wolf lunges at Clove. All of the mutts seem to be focused on Clove, with only one...the smallest...slinking slowly and menacingly towards Finch.

The dying girl looks up at Katniss, and again, for an instant, their eyes seem to meet. Katniss doesn't hesitate. She draws her arrow back, aiming carefully, and murmurs, "Thank you. I'm so sorry," before sending the arrow into Finch's chest. The red-haired girl makes no sound, her body arching as the arrow strikes home, and the cannon sounds a second later.

Katniss pauses just long enough to kiss the three middle fingers of her left hand and extends them towards Finch, and then draws her final arrow and nocks it carefully to her bowstring.

Clove is backed up against the Cornucopia, her final remaining knife clutched in her hand as she slashes viciously at the mutt-wolves. Her left hand, dripping blood from Finch's teeth, hangs at her side. Clove screams incoherently as a mutt-wolf suddenly lunges forward, grabbing her left leg and shaking its huge head back and forth.

Clove's body armor works admirably. The mutts' teeth don't penetrate to her skin. But the powerful jaws can easily crush bone.

There's a sudden, loud snap as Clove screams again, her left leg collapsing underneath her. Another mutt...the Gale-mutt from the looks of it...grabs her knife arm. Another shake of the head, another snap of breaking bones. Two more snaps and Clove is down, the mutts savaging her through her body armor.

The small Rue-mutt dashes in, ripping at Clove's face and tearing half of it away. All Clove can manage is a bubbling scream as her one remaining eye locks on Katniss, standing and watching from the safety of the top of the Cornucopia, her face an impassive mask.

Clove can only manage a single word. "Please."

Katniss raises her bow and aims carefully. "Clove," she says, "how does it feel to be first loser?"

The cannon fires two seconds later.

Katniss steps back from the edge of the Cornucopia just as the trumpets begin to blare. Her bow clatters to the top of the Cornucopia, the string snapping as the bow hits the metallic surface. Katniss slowly falls to her knees as the gloom of the arena is replaced by a beautiful, bright, sunny day. One shaking hand slowly wipes the blood from her forehead and she begins to sob as the voice of Claudius Templesmith booms out over the arena.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the Victor of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen! I give you the Tribute of District Twelve!"

Almost instantly a hovercraft appears over the Cornucopia and a ladder is lowered. Katniss, still sobbing, her face buried in her hands, at first doesn't notice the ladder until finally, someone from inside the hovercraft...a medic, from the look of her clothing...descends the ladder, helps her to her feet, and helps her to grab onto the ladder as he does the same.

The ladder slowly retracts into the belly of the hovercraft as Katniss and the medic disappear inside. The hovercraft starts to move as soon as Katniss is aboard. The camera pans over the Cornucopia one last time. The mutt-wolves have disappeared. Finch and Clove both lay where they fell for the last time as the projection slowly fades to black.

I slowly exhale and realize that I've been holding my breath. I glance at my parents and brother. All of us are sitting, stunned, by what just happened.

The projection comes alive again, this time with Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman eagerly discussing the Finale. None of us pay any attention to them.

Katniss Everdeen won. She's Panem's newest Victor. She's alive and she will be coming home soon.

The worst is over for her. And, if I thought I had troubles before, I would soon find out that my real troubles were just beginning.

But, for now, I only had one thing on my mind. "She's alive," I breathe. "She made it."


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

**PART I**

"Sign there...and there...and there." The Capitol Liaison clerk, a young woman in her late twenties, points to every line where I must affix my signature so that my family, and, by extension, the bakery, will benefit from my "Fiscal Tesserae."

There are five copies that I must sign three times each. The first signature affirms that I am taking Tesserae of my own free will, without coercion or promise of recompense of any sort, the second acknowledges that I am taking Tesserae for myself, my parents, and my two siblings, and the third acknowledges my understanding that "Fiscal Tesserae" does not include grain  _or_  oil, and that I will be automatically extended for each year of Reaping eligibility that I have remaining.

I sign my name fifteen times, politely ask if I might use the toilet, lock myself in a stall, and throw up. I'm so violently ill that I feel my healing whip wounds rip open.

I stagger to my feet, flush the toilet, and splash water on my face. I twist around and examine my back the best that I could in the small mirror above the sink. I groan when I see spots of blood seeping through the fabric of my shirt.

"Shit," I mutter, and wonder if either Prim or Mrs. Everdeen is home right now. I wipe my face with a paper towel, toss it in the garbage, and walk out of the bathroom to rejoin my father in the Capitol Liaison office.

"There you are," the clerk says irritably. "I don't have all day to wait on you, you know."

"Sorry," I mutter, not feeling sorry in the least.

"Anyway," the clerk says, "Here is your copy -" she hands me a copy of the document that I just signed. I fold it up and stuff it in my pocket without reading it. " - and, Mr. Mellark, here is your copy for the bakery. Make sure you display it in a prominent place."

"I will," Poppa says, sliding the paper into a folder. "What happens to the other copies?"

"One stays here," the clerk explains, "and the other two are sent to the Ministry of Finance. Once you've paid the balance the writ of execution will be satisfied and one copy will be stamped 'paid in full' and that copy will be sent to you. When can we expect payment, by the way?"

"I'll have the money to you in less than a week," Poppa promises.

"Very good," the clerk says, closing the file. "We're done here. See you in one week, Mr. Mellark. Good day."

We've been dismissed.

I don't wait. I turn and stride out the door. Poppa has to hurry to keep up. I wait for him just outside the Justice Building.

As soon as Poppa is standing next to me I turn to him. "I'll see you in a little bit," I say. "I need to go see Mrs. Everdeen or Prim."

"You're scheduled to work," Poppa points out.

I turn so he can see my back. "I need to have them look at this," I explain, "unless, of course, you would rather I bleed all over Mayor Undersee's Victory Day cake."

"Please don't take that tone with me, son," Poppa says gently. "What's happened to you...to us...is not my fault."

"I know," I reply wearily. "It's not my fault either. But somehow I end up eating one shit sandwich after another."

Poppa hesitates, as if he's about to say something else, then simply says, "Don't be too long."

"As long as it takes," I say flatly. Poppa just nods and turns away. "Poppa," I say softly.

He turns back towards me. "Yes, son?"

"I may end up making history at this rate," I say. "With as many slips as I will have in the Reaping Bowl, I just may be the first person in the history of the Games to be Reaped twice."

I turn and stride off toward the Seam before either of us says anything else.

* * *

It's amazing how much a person's life can change in a few short weeks.

Before Reaping Day I would have been scared to set foot in the Seam. Merchants, with our blonde hair and blue eyes, stand out like a fly on white frosting in the Seam. Now, I nonchalantly stroll through the rows of ramshackle houses, ignoring the curious, and largely hostile, stares that are directed my way.

Everyone knows who I am, of course. I'm the "rich" baker's son that managed to buy his way out of the Hunger Games. The one responsible for Hazelle Hawthorne losing her life's savings. The one that was publicly flogged for bribing Gale Hawthorne to take my place. And, ultimately, I'm the person most responsible for Gale Hawthorne's death.

I ignore the muttered comments, spoken just loudly enough so I can hear them, as I walk through the Seam toward the Everdeen house. In spite of no evidence that would prove the vicious rumors true, people's minds are made up. I was flogged and punished...that's good enough for them. Never mind that Cray ordered my punishment simply to shut everyone up. I'm guilty as far as everyone is concerned.

I arrive at a nondescript home with a hand operated water pump sitting outside, near the street. The pump is a community water source...the Everdeens are fortunate that theirs is the closest house to it. I step up onto the rickety porch and knock twice, firmly.

I hear the scraping of a chair on the wooden floor and the sound of soft footsteps, and then a girlish voice on the other side of the door calls out, "Who is it?"

"Peeta Mellark," I reply softly.

"Peeta?" Prim says, throwing the door open. She's still dressed in her school clothes and, behind her; I can see an open textbook sitting on the flimsy table. The same table that I virtually lived on for several days following my flogging.

"Hi," I say softly. "Is your mother here?"

"No," Prim replies. "She had to go to the Mayor's office. Haymitch is supposed to call with an update on Katniss."

 _Katniss._  I had almost... _almost_...forgotten about her. Almost, but she was never very far from my thoughts. "Are you okay, Peeta?" Prim was asking.

"Uhh..." In response I turn around so she can see the spots of blood seeping through my shirt.

"Oh my gosh!" Prim says, taking my hand. "You come in right now!" She drags me into the house, quickly shutting the door, and then hustles me to the table. She grabs her book, pencil, and paper, putting her schoolwork on the kitchen counter.

"Take off your shirt," Prim orders, as she goes to the cupboard where the Everdeens keep their meager medical supplies. "Then lay on the table."

I quickly strip off my shirt and gingerly lie on the table, tensing as I hear the ancient wood creak and groan under my weight. I turn my head and watch Prim assemble dressings and some herbal medications. She puts everything in a large bowl, which she carries to the table, and then I feel her fingers gently probe my back.

"How did this happen?" Prim asks softly. "Did you fall...or did someone...hit you?"

"Neither," I reply ruefully. "I...I threw up."

Concern creeps into Prim's voice. "Are you sick, Peeta? I can give you something for nausea, if you like."

"Sick?" I laugh bitterly. "Only of getting fu...I mean, screwed over every time I turn around." I quickly explain about my being forced to sign up for "Fiscal Tesserae."

Prim continues to work on my back while I talk. When I finish, she says softly, "That's so wrong. All of these horrible things keep happening to you. And now this."

Her gentle sympathy proves to be too much for me. I've grown a thick skin to taunts and insults. Thick, but still vulnerable to sincere concern. The weeks of pent up emotion finally burst out of me. Tears begin to flow freely down my face and I bury my head in my arms as huge sobs wrack my body.

Prim stops working on my back and instead lays a gentle hand on my head, gently stroking my hair as I cry. Incoherent words flow from my mouth, mixing with my tears and the runny discharge from my nose. I don't know how long I cried, only that when I was done, I was exhausted...and strangely at peace with myself.

I lift my tear-and-snot stained face and the first thing I see are Prim's gentle eyes watching me carefully. She gives me a sad little smile as she gently sponges my face with a damp cloth.

"I...I'm sorry," I stammer. "I didn't mean to -"

"Peeta," Prim interrupts gently, "You have nothing to be sorry for. Snow knows how you've managed to hold it all in as long as you have. You had to let it out sometime. Do you feel better?"

I manage a quick laugh. "As a matter of fact, I do. Thank you."

"For what?" She asks with a confused frown.

"For everything," I reply. "And I'm sorry. I didn't bring anything to pay you for this today."

"Psssh," Prim says dismissively. "We have baking supplies to last us months. And soon we won't have to worry about money any more. You don't owe me anything."

"That's right," I say, feeling like a complete jerk. "Katniss. She's a Victor now. Have you...have you been able to talk to her yet?"

Prim shakes her head as she resumes her ministrations on my back. "Not yet. Peacekeepers came last night and escorted Mom and I to the Mayor's house...he has the only phone in town, besides the Capitol people and Peacekeepers, of course...so Mom could talk to Haymitch."

"I saw what happened," I say softly. "Of course, everyone did. What...what did he tell you?"

Prim takes a deep breath before replying. "She...she was dehydrated. Early signs of starvation...Haymitch said that she ate better than most Tributes but everything she ate was being expended in energy to stay alive. She also picked up some kind of parasite that she's being treated for. She was half-deaf in one ear...remember when she blew up the food?" I nod. "The doctors had to do surgery to fix her ear. They had to operate on her leg, too...the one that she hurt so bad in that trap?" I nod again. "They had to open her leg up and repair muscle damage that the medication couldn't quite fix. They had to work on her burns...they hadn't healed very well. Oh, and she has a nasty cut on her forehead."

 _From Clove's knife_ , I say to myself. Aloud, I say, "Did he say when she'll be home?"

"Haymitch couldn't say. A few days in the hospital for sure. Then the Victor's Interview and the train ride home." I hear Prim laugh lightly. "Haymitch said he had a huge fight with the Gamemakers. They wanted to... _enhance_...different, well...parts of Katniss. Make her look...you know."

"You mean...her...chest?" I ask awkwardly. Prim giggles in response.

"Yes," she replies. "Could you imagine her like... _that_?"

"No," I reply truthfully. "She's perfect just the way she is," I add softly.

Prim says nothing for a moment, but continues to work on my back. Finally she steps back. "It wasn't too bad," she explains. "Some scabbing ripped open. I just cleaned you up a bit. You should be able to take the bandages off in a few hours."

I sit up, moving experimentally. "It feels great, Prim," I say as I pull my shirt back on. "Thanks again."

"Peeta," Prim says softly, "I talked to Haymitch too. He said he was able to see Katniss just before they took her into surgery. He said that she gave him a message for me." Prim pauses for a moment, her eyes suddenly shining with unshed tears. "Haymitch told me, 'Katniss has a message for you. She said to make sure you tuck in your tail, Little Duck.'"

Tears are now spilling freely out of Prim's eyes and rolling down her cheeks. "That's...that's the last thing she said to me before we left for the Reaping." She wasn't able to talk after that as her sobs made any sort of speech next to impossible. So I do the only thing I can do.

I take Prim in my arms and let her cry out her pent-up emotion on my chest.

**PART II**

As I walk back to the Square and the bakery, I notice a subtle but distinct change taking place all around me. The people assigned to the Capitol Liaison Office are out and about in the district far more than I can ever remember seeing them at any time before. The Peacekeepers seem to be more active as well.

I ponder these changes all the way to the bakery. Just before I arrive the reason for all this increased activity suddenly hits me.

It's because of Katniss.

Katniss is now a Victor. Soon, all eyes will be on District Twelve. And I'm sure that the Capitol Liaison people as well as the Peacekeepers have been told to make the district as presentable as possible. How they intend to do that is anyone's guess...District Twelve is not known for its charm and beauty.

My route to the bakery takes me right past the Mayor's office, and I run in to Mrs. Everdeen just as she was leaving. The change that has come over this woman since I last saw her is...well, amazing.

"Peeta!" Mrs. Everdeen says as she briskly walks down the steps and onto the street. "Hello!" She smiles warmly at me and I can't help but return it.

"Hello, Mrs. Everdeen," I reply. "And congratulations. You must be relieved!"

"Immensely," she admits breathlessly. "I've just spoken with Haymitch Abernathy. He's keeping me up to date on how Katniss is doing."

"I know," I say, and then quickly tell her about my very recent visit with Prim.

"Oh, no!" Mrs. Everdeen spins me around. "Well," she says as she gently probes my back through my shirt, "it appears that Prim did a fine job, as usual."

"She did," I assure her. "Is there anything new with Katniss?"

"Haymitch wasn't able to tell me much today, I'm afraid," Mrs. Everdeen says. "She was in surgery most of yesterday and last night. Haymitch said that she's still heavily sedated but he spoke with the doctors, and they all assured him that she would make a full recovery."

"That's wonderful news!" I tell her enthusiastically. Inwardly, though, I am far from elated. Oh, I'm beyond happy for Katniss winning the Games. She's alive, she's coming home, and that's what really matters.

But how will she ever be able to look at me without thinking that I'm the one that Gale Hawthorne volunteered to die for?

"Well, I have to get to the bakery, Mrs. Everdeen," I add lamely, suddenly uncomfortable to be around this gentle, compassionate woman. "I was scheduled to work right after school and my mother is probably wondering where I am."

"Of course, Peeta," she says warmly. "And I certainly hope that you don't have any more bouts of illness...we don't need you aggravating your wounds again!"

I had conveniently left out the reason why I was vomiting in the first place, so I just nod. I'm relieved when we say brief goodbyes and I quickly hurry the rest of the way home so I can change out of my school clothes and into my work clothes.

Mother doesn't say a word to me when I arrive at the bakery. She simply glares at me and wordlessly hands me a job sheet. I take the sheet from her, go to the large basin to wash my hands, and then retrieve the Mayor's Victory Day cake from the icebox, place it carefully on the counter, and start to assemble the ingredients for the decorations.

* * *

"Just like twenty-four years ago," Poppa mutters as he stands at the bakery window, looking out toward the Square.

"What's that, Poppa?" Quinn asks, moving around the counter to stand next to our father.

"What?" Poppa says in a surprised tone, as if Quinn has somehow startled him. Poppa's eyes dart from Quinn to me. "Oh. Nothing. It's nothing, boys. Go back to work."

Quinn looks at Poppa, shrugs his shoulders, then goes back behind the counter and continues to pull the empty racks, replacing them with clean racks for the display case. Poppa turns back to the window and continues to stare outside, every now and then shaking his head slightly.

Quinn gathers up the dirty racks and disappears into the back with them. I give the glass on the display cases one final wipe, then stuff the cleaning rag into my apron and join my father at the window.

Poppa doesn't even glance my way as I join him. Together we watch two squads of white uniforms march past, their rifles slung over their shoulders. Peacekeepers.

 _New_  Peacekeepers.

The train had arrived a couple of hours before. Camera crews, Games officials, and Peacekeepers. A lot of Peacekeepers. I glance at my father and see the worried expression on his face.

"It's the Peacekeepers, isn't it?" I ask. "I mean, why you said...what you said."

Poppa sighs heavily. "When Haymitch won twenty-four years ago, the whole district was ecstatic. The way he had allied with Maysilee Donner...a Merchant girl teaming with a Seam boy...Peeta, you've never seen anything like it. Merchant and Seam were getting along like never before. And Haymitch's Victory meant a year of Parcels...luxuries that we never see in District Twelve. But the Capitol knows, Peeta. They know what something like this does to a poor, small district like Twelve. And they know just what to do about it."

"I don't understand," I say stubbornly. "A poor district gets a Victor so the Capitol sends more Peacekeepers? What do they think we're gonna do? Riot?"

"I don't know, son," Poppa replies heavily. "I really don't. All I know is, this is how it started after Haymitch won."

"'Started?'" I ask, gesturing towards the window. "What do you mean, 'started?'"

Poppa looks at me with sad eyes. "Our Peacekeepers are generally pretty easy-going." I glance at him sharply when he says this. "For the most part, anyway," he adds hastily. "They tolerate the Hob, for example. Many of them frequent the Hob, in fact. And they look the other way when certain...people...slip through the fence - which is rarely electrified - to hunt." Poppa smiles. "I even know that old Cray has a weakness for fresh wild turkey."

 _That's not all he has a weakness for,_ I say to myself.  _He also has a weakness for teenaged Seam girls._  It was a common sight to see a group of girls...some as young as fourteen...gathered outside Cray's house every evening, in the hope that he would buy their "companionship" for the night for a handful of coins.

"But the new Peacekeepers," Poppa continues, "They don't know anything about the Hob, or hunters, or the fence. They're by the book. And there's enough of them to make sure that the laws... _all_  laws...are strictly enforced. And it will only get worse if the Capitol decides to send a new Head Peacekeeper, like they did twenty-four years ago."

"How could it possibly get  _worse_?" I ask in amazement.

"Think about it," Poppa says gently. "Peeta, other than...yourself...when was the last time someone was publicly flogged?"

I can feel my cheeks burn at my father's mention of my whipping as I reply, "I don't know. A while, I guess."

"Over six  _years,_ " Poppa says. "Ten lashes to a drunken miner that struck a Capitol citizen in a bar fight. And the time before that was before you were even born! But twenty-four years ago, after Haymitch won...floggings were meted out for a whole host of offenses...including charges like 'mute insolence' and 'failure to yield to a Peacekeeper.'"

"I've never even heard of crimes like that," I admit.

Poppa laughs grimly. "'Mute insolence' can be translated into 'giving a Peacekeeper a dirty look.' 'Failure to yield' basically means accidentally bumping into a Peacekeeper while walking through the Square."

I look at Poppa in amazement. "They can flog someone for  _that_?"

Poppa nods solemnly. "They can, they did, and they probably will again. If we get a new Head, look for the permanent installation of a whipping post in the Square. Gallows, too."

I stare out the window at the Square, trying to imagine a permanent whipping post and a gallows sitting in plain sight...worse, with a body dangling from a rope.

"But  _why_?" I ask plaintively. "All because Katniss  _won_?"

"The Capitol wants to remind us who's in charge, I guess," Poppa says glumly.

"Maybe you're wrong," I say, but there's no conviction behind my words.

"So do I, son," Poppa says. "I hope with all my heart that I'm wrong. But I don't think I am."

**PART III**

Over the next few days activity in the district increased. Work crews labored virtually non-stop in an effort to, as Poppa put it, "spruce up District Twelve." And the Peacekeepers were seemingly everywhere at once.

There was one positive note. Locals were hired to work on what the Capitol Liaison people called "District Beautification." Everything from basic manual labor up to and including skilled craftsmen and artisans were needed...and the Capitol paid well... _extremely_  well. Manual laborers could expect to be paid twenty times what they would make in the mines, and skilled workers would make even more. Of course, the mine quotas didn't change...but that didn't stop miners from working for several hours after their shift in the mines was done. The money was just too good to pass up.

The increase in activity in the district had a side effect that was beneficial to the bakery. Business was booming. Two days after Katniss's Victory, Poppa changed the hours, opening at six in the morning and remaining open until eight every evening...and the demand for coffee, tea, pastries, and breads was steady all day long. Poppa and Alec would open in the morning, with Quinn taking over for Alec in the afternoon and me joining Quinn as soon as school let out. Quinn and I would close and do the evening clean up. Mother, of course, made her own hours and her chief duty seemed to consist of never being happy with how anything was going.

It was while I was working the second shift five days after the end of the Games that Bacchus Brandywine strolled into the bakery...and single-handedly managed to make me the most hated person in District Twelve. Not that I needed his help, of course.

* * *

I was working in back when Bacchus came in. I heard the door chimes ring as the door opened, and that was followed by Quinn saying, "Good evening, sir. May I help you?"

"I certainly hope so," a rich, cultured voice replies. "Would you be Peeta Mellark, by chance?"

"Uhh, no. That would be my brother. I'll fetch him, if you like," Quinn says.

"Oh, please do 'fetch' him," the voice says. "That's a good fellow. Oh, how quaint is the provincial District Twelve accent!"

Quinn pokes his head into the kitchen. "Peeta," he murmurs. "There's some Capitol asshole asking for you."

"I heard," I reply. "Tell him I'll be right up. Did he say what he wants?"

"No," Quinn shakes his head. "And I didn't ask, either."

The sound of the door chimes causes Quinn to quickly bolt back to the front of the store. I follow close behind, wiping my hands on my apron as I enter the front of the store.

A well-dressed young man, in the latest Capitol finery, is waiting, somewhat impatiently, off to one side as Quinn helps the next customer. When he spots me his face splits in a wide, toothy smile...but the smile goes nowhere near his eyes. Nonetheless, he steps forward, his right hand extended.

"Peeta Mellark?" The man certainly has a cultured voice. I grip his hand firmly.

"Yes, sir?" I reply. "How can I help you?"

The man shakes my hand perfunctorily. "Bacchus Brandywine here. I'm a roving correspondent for the Hunger Games Network."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Brandywine," I say, resisting the urge to wipe my hands on my apron once he releases my hand. "What can I do for you?"

"It's the other way around, my dear fellow," he says conspiratorially. "What can  _I_  do for  _you_?"

I frown in confusion. "What do you mean, sir?"

"Is there someplace we can talk?" Brandywine asks.

I gesture towards the back. "The office."

"Lead on, lad," Brandywine says jovially.

I turn to my brother. "Quinn -"

Quinn waves me off. "I heard, I heard. Just don't take too long."

"Five minutes," I promise him, as I gesture for Brandywine to follow me.

* * *

I usher Brandywine to take the chair behind the desk while I pull up a backless stool. It's more comfortable for me, anyway.

"I'll get right to the point," Brandywine says. "I want to interview you. Just a brief talk, you understand. I do post-Games interviews for the Hunger Games Network. All I would like is a brief snippet from the boy that Gale Hawthorne volunteered for. Do you think you can do that?"

I hesitate, extremely put off by Brandywine's condescending attitude. "I'm pretty busy here," I explain, somewhat lamely.

"And here Cressida told me that you were cooperative," Brandywine pouts. My ears perk up at the sound of the name.

"You know Cressida?" I ask skeptically.

" _Know_ her?" Brandywine says incredulously. "My dear boy, I  _trained_  her! She's where she's at today because of me! Now, what do you say?

I would feel much better speaking with Cressida, but - "Okay. Can you come back at eight thirty? I have to help my brother and we'll need to close."

Brandywine looks relieved. "That's the ticket. Eight thirty it is, Master Mellark!" With that, he stands up and strides out of the bakery.

I sigh, shake my head, and resume my duties in the kitchen. I resolve to try to locate and speak to Cressida at the first opportunity.

But, for now, it seems that I agreed to speak with Bacchus Brandywine. My questions for Cressida will just have to wait.

* * *

Brandywine returns to the bakery precisely at eight thirty, accompanied by a single camera operator. Unlike Castor and Pollux, the friendly pair of camera operators that work for Cressida, this man was unsmiling and taciturn.

Brandywine greets me perfunctorily, and then gets down to business. "I'm thinking we'll do the interview in the bakery. That'll give it a more spontaneous feel." He looks me up and down. "I should have told you not to change," he mutters, "but, no matter. Can you put an apron on?"

"Sure," I reply, grabbing an apron hanging from a coat tree behind the counter, quickly knotting it in place.

"Much better," Brandywine says. "Now, Peeta, just act naturally. Forget that the camera is here. It's just you and I having a conversation. Okay?"

"Okay," I nod, wiping my sweaty palms on the apron.

"Alright then, let's get started!" Brandywine turns and faces the camera, and, at the same time, steps toward me so that he's standing directly beside me. "On three...two...one. Hello, Panem! Bacchus Brandywine reporting from District Twelve, home of Katniss Everdeen, our latest Hunger Games Victor! Tonight I'm speaking with Peeta Mellark, who, as some of you may remember, was Reaped, then replaced by volunteer Tribute Gale Hawthorne. Peeta, can you tell us exactly what you felt when you heard the news that Katniss Everdeen had survived and would soon be crowned Victor?"

"I was so relieved," I reply. "Katniss fought long and hard in the Games and it was really wonderful to see her named the Victor."

Brandywine chuckles, as he says, "No doubt you were relieved. Now, let's go back to Reaping Day. What was going through your mind when your name was called?"

"I was shocked," I reply truthfully. "Truthfully, I wasn't too worried about it."

"And when Gale Hawthorne stepped forward to volunteer for you? What about then?" Brandywine asks.

"Even more shock," I reply. "Disbelief, too. That was the last thing that I expected to happen."

"I see. And, as I understand it, you didn't really know Gale Hawthorne at all before then?" Brandywine glances towards the camera operator briefly, then back to me.

"Not really. He...well, we didn't have the same circle of friends."

"Gale revealed his motivation for volunteering during his Interview. Did that surprise you at all?"

"No, not at all." I pause for a moment. "I went to see Gale during the Visiting Hour and asked him why. I had to know."

Brandywine smiles. "Yes, I'm sure you did." He looks down at a small electronic device in his hand. "Gale's death," he says softly. "I know that he had stated that his goal was to sacrifice himself for Katniss Everdeen. Still, watching the events unfold must have been difficult."

"It was hard," I admit. "But I was happy for him, in a way. He did what he said he would do. He got Katniss as far as he could. The rest was up to her."

"Speaking of Katniss," Brandywine says, "Are you looking forward to her homecoming?"

I blush just a bit as I reply, "Yes, of course. I think everyone in the district is."

"No doubt they are," Brandywine says, and then adds, "This is Bacchus Brandywine, reporting from District Twelve." He turns to his camera operator. "Cut. That's a wrap."

"That's it?" I ask.

"That's it, Peeta," Brandywine replies with a grin. "This will air tomorrow night, along with some other interviews. We just need to clean it up a bit before it goes on the air." He shakes my hand firmly. "By the time Katniss does come home, you'll be nearly as famous as she is."

I smile wanly as I return his handshake. I don't want to be famous. It seems that every time attention is focused on me something bad happens. But the last thing I need right now is for Bacchus Brandywine to complain to the Peacekeepers that I'm being "uncooperative."

**PART IV**

I'm working my shift the next afternoon, staffing the front counter, when Cressida walks in. I can safely say that this is one Capitolite that I am genuinely happy to see.

"Peeta!" She takes my hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze. "I was hoping I'd find you here. Do you have a minute to talk?"

"Sure," I reply. "We'll probably be pretty slow until the after-dinner rush."

"Good," she says with a smile. "This won't take a minute. I'd like to interview you and I just need the best time that works for you."

I frown. "Another interview?" I ask.

"Well, yes," Cressida says, "But you have to understand that this one has nothing to do with the Final Eight Interview that you and I did earlier. This one is separate...I'm looking to get reactions from people here on Katniss's Victory."

"I'm afraid another reporter beat you to it," I tell her. "I was interviewed last night."

Cressida's face goes white when she hears this. "Last night? Who talked to you?"

Something tells me that perhaps I shouldn't have done that interview last night after all. "Some guy from the Hunger Games Network. Bacchus -"

"- Brandywine." Cressida hisses. "That son of a  _bitch_! Shit! I need to use your phone."

I get a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach. Now I know I shouldn't have talked to him and taken my chances with the Peacekeepers instead. "We...we don't have a phone," I stammer. "Only the Mayor and the Capitol offices."

"Okay," Cressida says, one hand on the door handle. "Peeta, I need to run to the Mayor's and use his phone." She glances at her watch, then back at me. "I hope there's still time. Don't, under any circumstances, speak to anyone else until I get back!"

She's gone before I have a chance to reply. I don't see her again that night.  _Maybe she's overreacting_ , I say to myself.  _I mean, all I did was answer his questions. How bad can that be?_

How bad, indeed. It turns out to be worse than anything that I can imagine.

* * *

Even though Katniss's Victory Ceremony is scheduled for the next night, tonight is another Mandatory Viewing broadcast. Highlights of the Games, of course, and coverage of the District Twelve Beautification...to include interviews with family, friends, and associates of both the new Victor and the unlucky Tribute that didn't make it.

These types of broadcasts are common, and normally we in District Twelve would scarcely pay attention to them. After all, in my lifetime, we haven't had a Victor to call our own.

Until now.

So, we watch, as we are taken on a virtual tour of District Twelve, complete with facts and figures on coal production, percentage of quotas achieved, how many previous Victors we've had (a grand total of two), and other fascinating information. Interspersed with the tour are interviews...with the Mayor, with the Mayor's daughter, Madge Undersee, with Delly Cartwright, with Mrs. Everdeen and Prim, with Mrs. Hawthorne (who was surprisingly calm and stoic considering the circumstances), with a tearful Rory Hawthorne, with Gale's friends Thom and Bristel, and with Katniss's neighbor Leevy. As we watch, I begin to think that perhaps my interview won't be aired...that maybe, just maybe, just maybe, Cressida succeeded in getting my interview pulled.

I was wrong. My interview was aired last.

Bacchus Brandywine appears on the projection, smiling and promising the most "revealing and stunning interview to come out of District Twelve yet! What Peeta Mellark revealed to me during my exclusive interview with him will, I guarantee, shock everyone!" I feel my stomach sinking as he speaks my name, introducing me, and then I appear on the projection.

"Peeta," Brandywine is saying, "I have to ask this...what was your first reaction when Gale Hawthorne volunteered for you?"

"I was so relieved," I hear my voice say. I stare in disbelief at the projection, hearing my voice and my words taken completely out of context.

"That's not what he asked me then," I whisper.

"But you weren't all that surprised that he did volunteer for you?" Brandywine's voice continues.

"Not really," my voice says. I can feel myself trembling.  _He's using my words and mixing them all up!_  "Truthfully, I wasn't too worried about it."

"I understand that you had made some sort of arrangement with Gale beforehand, on the off chance that your name was called?" Brandywine's voice asks me.

"Yes, of course," I hear myself reply. I'm uncomfortably aware of my family staring at me and I whirl around to face them.

"This...this is a  _lie!_ " I shout. "This is bullshit! This  _is not_ how the interview went  _at all!_ "

Brandywine's voice continues to drone on. "- had to pay him a pretty hefty sum as compensation for volunteering for you. Was it hard to scrape that kind of money together?"

"It was hard," my voice says. "But I was happy for him, in a way. He did what he said he would do."

"Which was, of course, volunteer for you," Brandywine's voice adds. "Speaking of the money, I understand that Mrs. Hawthorne had hidden it under her house and that it was discovered and confiscated. Were you surprised that the money was discovered?"

"That was the last thing that I expected to happen," my voice says.

"And do you have any remorse over Mrs. Hawthorne losing the money, or of Gale not surviving the Games?" The Brandywine-voice asks.

"No, not at all."  _That's it,_  I say to myself.  _I'm dead. This asshole has just turned the entire interview into a lie. I said everything that's being broadcast...only to different questions that were being asked._

"One final question," the Brandywine-voice says. "When this airs tomorrow night, do you think that this will make District Twelve residents angry or upset with you?"

"Yes, of course. I think everyone in the district is." My voice replies.

Bacchus Brandywine turns back to the camera. It's zoomed in on his face so no one can tell what the background is. "And there you have it, Panem. This has been a Bacchus Brandywine exclusive interview with Peeta Mellark of District Twelve. Happy Hunger Games, everyone...and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

I lurch into the bathroom to throw up. Puking has become a daily routine with me.

**PART V**

The backlash started minutes after my "interview" concluded.

A rock hurled through the large window in the front of the house. More dog shit thrown against our door. An angry mob, defying curfew, assembling in front of the house until a Peacekeeper squad came to drive them away and restore order.

And one visitor. Cressida.

Poppa and Quinn had been escorted to the bakery by Peacekeepers. The large window there had been shattered, although nothing inside was taken or disturbed. Vandalizing property would get you a flogging, but theft was a capital offense. That was a line that no one was willing to cross.

Yet.

An incessant pounding at the front door rouses me out of a fitful doze. Mother is, of course, upstairs...and is predictably angry - with me. The pounding at the door continues until I approach warily and call out, "Who is it?"

"Peeta," a familiar feminine voice replies, "It's Cressida. I need to talk to you."

I open the door just wide enough to allow her to slip into the house. "Thank you," she says quietly as she slips into the house.

"It's past curfew," I say flatly as I close the door. "Aren't you afraid of getting into trouble?"

Cressida sits on the edge of the couch and holds up her journalist's laminate. "I'm on the job...and a Capitol citizen, remember," she reminds me. "I'm not held to a curfew."

"Lucky for you," I mutter.

"Peeta, I'm so sorry," Cressida says in a rush. "Bacchus Brandywine is a first-class asshole. This never would have happened if I had already been in the district."

I laugh bitterly. "But it did. All I want to know is...why?"

Cressida shakes her head sadly. "Brandywine is what we call a 'tabloid journalist.' He...well, he stretches the truth until it's unrecognizable. Or, in your case, he took a story that he heard about you and Gale and decided that it would get him great ratings."

"And that means what, exactly?" I ask.

"More money," Cressida replies. "He's a freelancer...he sells to the Hunger Games Network, among others. I can guarantee that he was paid well once he had your interview edited the way he wanted it."

"For money," I whisper. "He deliberately ruined what's left of my life...for money."

"Peeta...I tried to stop it. You have to believe me. I didn't want this to happen." Cressida stares at the floor miserably.

"Why should you care?" I snap. "You're Capitol.  _You_  don't have to worry about Reapings, or taking Tesserae, or dying for someone's amusement! That's  _our_  job!"

"Yes," Cressida replies softly. "I'm Capitol. I never had to worry about being Reaped when I was growing up. But that doesn't...doesn't mean that I like the Games...or that I approve of them. But I don't blame you for feeling the way you do."

I stare at Cressida for a moment, not believing what I just heard. A Capitol citizen, admitting that she doesn't like or approve of the Games? Was this just another trick to get me to say something. Or was she telling the truth?

I decide to find out. I stand up and pull my shirt over my head, then turn my back to her. "I have good reason to feel the way that I do," I say bitterly.

Cressida gasps slightly. When I turn back around I can see her face has been drained of color.

"I knew that you had been flogged," she says, "but I didn't know it was...that bad."

I pull my shirt back on. "I don't suppose Capitolites have to worry about being flogged."

"No," Cressida says. "For us...there's something infinitely worse."

I look at her in amazement. "Worse?" I laugh. "How can  _anything_...short of hanging...be worse?"

"You don't want to know," she says flatly, "and besides, I've said too much already. I don't think your house is bugged, but..."

It had never crossed my mind that our house could be bugged. "So why are you here tonight?" I ask.

Cressida stands up. "I just wanted you to know that I will do everything that I can to get the network to retract that interview and air a correction...and that you have a friend."

I walk her to the door. "I'm sorry," I say quietly.

Cressida turns to face me. "For what? Peeta, you've been treated horribly. You've been wrongfully accused, wrongfully convicted and punished, and now all of Panem thinks the worst of you. And none of it is your fault. Do you understand? None of it!"

I don't trust myself to speak. I open the door for her. To my surprise, Cressida lays her hand gently on my face and gives me a sad smile.

"You're too nice a boy for all this to happen to you," she whispers. "And I want you to know that, out of all the people that I've interviewed, you are, by far, the most unforgettable."

Cressida turns to leave, then suddenly spins around, kisses me gently on my cheek, then turns and hurries into the darkness before I can say or do anything.

I close the door behind her, rubbing my cheek thoughtfully.

_Is she really my friend? Snow knows I don't have many of those left. Probably none after tonight. I hope that Katniss doesn't ever see that bullshit interview...not that I ever had a chance with her anyway._

_I wonder what could possibly be worse than flogging, and so bad that Cressida wouldn't even talk about it?_

* * *

The next day, my mother forces me to go to school. And, just as I expected, it was hell. I found myself, more than once, envying Gale Hawthorne. At least his troubles were over. It was impossible to concentrate on anything at school with the little whispered accusations of "Coward," "Liar," "Cheater," and a half-dozen other choice names. I was relieved when the final bell rang and I was able to retreat to the sanctuary of the bakery for a few hours, before the last Mandatory Viewing broadcast of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games airs.

The Victory Ceremony, where Katniss would be Caesar Flickerman's guest of honor for three hours. Where President Snow himself would place the Victor's Crown on Katniss's head. And where Katniss, along with the rest of Panem, would be forced to watch a mind-numbing recap of her Games, from Reaping to Victory.

But there was business to attend to first. Poppa had to pay off the ten percent of the bakery tax bill that my "Fiscal Tesserae" didn't cover.

Poppa went to the Capitol Liaison offices alone, and he was in an uncharacteristically foul mood when he returned. Quinn and I made sure to be as invisible as possible. I guess having to pay over two hundred Sesterces puts even the mildest person that I know in a foul mood.

But there's no avoiding him later on as we all gather to watch Katniss's Victory Ceremony. Unlike the Tribute Interviews, the Victory Ceremony is conducted in a studio, with only Caesar Flickerman and the Victor...and later on, President Snow...actually present and participating.

The show is fairly predictable. Katniss rises up through a hole in the stage, looking absolutely... _radiant_. That's the only word I can think of to describe her. I feel my heart skip a beat or two as I take her in. She's dressed all in white, in a dress that's at once innocent and, well... _sexy_  at the same time. Her olive skin plays off the dress perfectly. And she is perfect. Her hair is perfect, her skin is perfect...there's not a scar or mark to be seen on her.

Caesar greets her warmly and guides her through the interview. Katniss answers his questions in a soft, almost shy voice. Together they go through the entire experience - the Reaping ("I have to tell you, Katniss," Caesar says, "Your volunteering for your sister still gets me choked up."), the Tribute Parade, the Tribute Interviews, and the Games itself. And through it all, Katniss is able to remain calm...even detached...except when discussing two people.

Rue and Gale.

Caesar plays Rue's death and Katniss singing to her, while very carefully omitting Katniss covering Rue with flowers. Katniss at one point has to stop the interview until she is able to compose herself. She has a rougher time with Gale Hawthorne.

"You know, Katniss," Caesar remarks, "You and Gale Hawthorne were known as the 'Coal-Dust Twins of District Twelve.'"

"I'd heard that," Katniss says softly. "It's fitting. Gale would have...would have gone into the mines if he had..." Katniss pauses for a moment and Caesar immediately hands her a tissue. Katniss dabs at her eyes and nods her thanks before continuing. "I would've ended up in the mines in a couple more years myself."

"And, as fate would have it," Caesar says gently, "neither of you will end up covered in coal dust."

"No," Katniss says. "No, we won't."

"Which brings me to a question that, I think, has been on everyone's mind." Caesar pauses. "After Gale brought you the medication for your leg...by the way, can we see that leg, Katniss?" Katniss complies, shifting around on her seat and extending her right leg. The skin on the calf was perfect and flawless, without a scar to be seen. "Marvelous!" Caesar says.

"Yes," Katniss adds. "The doctors in Victor's Mercy were wonderful, especially Dr. Nivosus. The nurses and the rest of the staff were all great. I can't thank them enough!"

"Nothing but the best for our Victors!" Caesar says, and then returns to his topic. "But, as I was saying...in the cave, when it was obvious that Gale had more than just, shall we say, platonic feelings toward you...as he lay there, mortally injured..." Katniss began crying again, causing Caesar to stop and hand her another tissue. "I'm sorry, Katniss, but I must. Gale was dying...he knew it, and you knew it too. But, right at the end, you leaned over and whispered something in his ear that made him smile. Could you tell us what you said to him?"

Katniss shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Caesar," she says. "That was personal, between Gale and me." She pauses for a moment, and then continues. "I would like to say something, if I could."

"Please do," Caesar says, waving his hand toward the camera.

Katniss looks at the camera. "I don't know if this has ever been done before...but I would like to dedicate my Victory to Gale Hawthorne. I wouldn't be sitting here today if not for him. Thank you, Gale."

Caesar stands up. "Katniss Everdeen, we share your sentiment regarding Gale Hawthorne's gallant sacrifice. There's nothing more to be said. Perhaps we should bring our President out so he can properly crown you...after all, I believe you have a train to catch!"

President Snow walks onto the stage as Katniss stands. She bows her head slightly as the President gently places the crown on her head, then leans forward to say something to her. Katniss smiles slightly, nods her head, and says something to the President, who shakes her hand and then retreats off the stage.

"Katniss Everdeen, Victor of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, do you have any final words before you leave us until your Victory Tour?" Caesar asks.

"Yes, Caesar, I do." Katniss turns toward the cameras, and, as they zoom in to her, she smiles and says, "I did it, Prim! I did it!"


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

**PART I**

I stand on the fringes of the crowd, as far away as possible from the area of the platform where Katniss's train will be arriving. I'm shielded somewhat by the rest of my family, which is some relief, at least...but at the same time I'm uncomfortably aware of the hostile stares and muttered remarks from other district residents now crowding the platform.

I glance around, actually glad to see so many Peacekeepers present. One of them catches my eye and works his way through the crowd. Normally, the sight of a Peacekeeper heading toward me would be cause for concern, at the very least. But this Peacekeeper is different.

Darius Potter stops directly in front of me, greets my parents and brothers perfunctorily, and then leans in closely.

"How are you holding up?" He asks.

I shrug. "Okay. As well as can be expected. Thanks."

He quickly pats my shoulder. "Hang in there," he says quietly. "By next Reaping, you'll be old news. Forgotten."

I laugh humorlessly. "And all I need to do is gut it out for another eleven months and I'll be home free. Great."

Darius grins, and then suddenly freezes, pressing an ear bud more firmly into his ear. "I gotta go. Train's two minutes out."

I nod. "Thanks, Darius," I say softly. He just nods as he hurries away.

The crowd stirs as Peacekeepers and camera crews alike take their positions. The Peacekeepers form a phalanx down each row of barricades so that Katniss won't have to push her way through the crowd. I see several camera crews and look for Cressida, but she's nowhere in sight.

I feel a slight vibration in the soles of my feet as a sudden cry erupts from the crowd. I glance down the tracks and see the sleek, modern train slowing as it approaches the platform. The crowd noise increases as the engine passes the platform, followed by several more cars. The train continues to slow until it finally sighs to a stop. The noise is practically deafening by now as I strain to see what's going on. A glass-covered car has stopped, perfectly aligned with the barricades. I'm vaguely aware of movement inside the car and realize that one of the people that I see is Katniss.

The doors hiss open and the crowd surges forward, cheering and applauding wildly. My family and I hang back and avoid getting caught up in the wave of people crushing forward. Over the loudspeakers I can hear a man's voice saying something unintelligible but most of the announcement is lost in the crowd noise, as the only words that I can make out are "Katniss Everdeen." From the way the crowd is moving I can tell that Katniss and the rest of the party on the train has disembarked, but I can see nothing.

Someone touches my elbow and I glance back, seeing my father standing close behind me. He looks at me solemnly for a moment, then turns and nods his head once towards the rear of the train, where there's something going on that I can't quite make out. I step to one side so I can see better...and promptly wish I had stayed put.

Cargo handlers from District Six slide open a large door on the side of a freight car. As the door opens, a puff of condensation escapes the freight car. I realize that the freight car is refrigerated, and I begin to feel sick as the reason why becomes apparent.

Mrs. Hawthorne is standing off to one side, with her children...two boys and a little girl, no more than four years old...standing by her side. Mrs. Hawthorne is stoic, her face set in an impassive mask, but the two boys and the little girl have obviously been crying. Four men...miners, from the look of their clothes...stand by as well with a hand-drawn cart.

They don't have long to wait. The cargo handlers slide a long wooden box out of the reefer car and onto the handcart in a single, practiced, smooth motion. Once the box is loaded, one of the cargo handlers produces a clipboard and hands it to Mrs. Hawthorne, who signs something as the cargo handler points to a spot on the paper. He then separates the form, handing a copy to Mrs. Hawthorne, as the others close and latch the door, and then they all re-board the train.

That box is a coffin. Gale Hawthorne's coffin. And, as the men begin to haul the cart away from the freight platform, followed closely by the remainder of the Hawthorne family, I become aware of someone standing uncomfortably close behind me.

"Take a good look, coward," a voice hisses in my ear. "That should be  _your_  box,  _not_  Gale's!"

I turn my head to see Thom and Bristel, Gale's friends from the Seam, crowding in close behind me. Behind them I see a pair of Peacekeepers, perhaps sensing trouble, rapidly approach.

I nod my head as I turn back toward the Hawthornes escorting Gale through the streets of District Twelve one last time. "You're right," I say softly. "It should be mine."

* * *

Katniss Everdeen is home.

I couldn't see anything from my vantage point, of course...although I had a marvelous view of Gale's coffin being unloaded from the train...but Katniss is home.

Well, not completely home, from what I gather. Tonight there's a reception for her and her family at the Mayor's residence, along with her Mentor, Haymitch Abernathy, and her Escort, Effie Trinket. Some big shots from the Capitol Liaison office will be in attendance as well. For now she's been taken to the Justice Building, along with her mother and sister, to rest and spend a little quiet time with her family before the reception. Following the reception her mother and sister will be escorted back to their home in the Seam, while Katniss will spend the night in VIP quarters in the Justice Building itself. Tomorrow, she formally takes possession of her house in Victor's Village and becomes neighbors with Haymitch Abernathy.

Tonight, through, we get the unexpected gift of one more night of electricity, as a final Hunger Games broadcast is being televised, showing Katniss's homecoming. Although it's not Mandatory Viewing, all district residents have been "encouraged" to watch. And even though it's scheduled to air fairly early, we will all get a chance to watch...with the Homecoming done and over with, almost all of the Capitol camera crews have already left. There's no longer any need to keep the bakery open late anymore.

So, at seven we all settle in to watch the very last broadcast of this years' Hunger Games. As the show begins, I can't help but wonder if this is something that's done for every district that hosts a Victor. I certainly can't ever remember watching Homecomings for any other districts...or perhaps, we just didn't have the electricity in years past so that we  _could_  watch.

The cameras show the train stopping and the doors to the glass-covered car...the observation car, a commentator explains...sliding open, revealing Katniss to the adoring, cheering crowd. And she looks nothing short of radiant.

Her hair, normally pulled back and braided, is flowing in loose waves around her shoulders. She's wearing a sleeveless, knee length, dark green dress that somehow manages to accentuate her olive skin. I don't know how they managed it...but she looks demurely innocent and sexy all at the same time.

Katniss is smiling and waving as she steps off the train...until she spots her sister. Prim comes tearing out of the crowd, screaming Katniss's name. Katniss freezes in her tracks, her eyes widening, throwing her arms wide as Prim barrels into her, almost knocking her over. Katniss and Prim are laughing and crying simultaneously, their arms locked around one another...their joy at seeing one another was as real as it gets.

I only wish I had been close enough to see it in person earlier today.

The rest of the program was predictable...interviews with Haymitch Abernathy (who's surprisingly sober and articulate) and Effie Trinket (who was just  _thrilled_  at Katniss's victory), a tearful interview with Mrs. Everdeen and Prim...and something I could have done without - footage of the freight handlers unloading Gale's coffin. Apparently, while the bulk of the district was concentrated in and around the train station, the Hawthorne family, along with the small group of miners with their handcart, was busy burying Gale Hawthorne in the area of the District Twelve Cemetery known as the Tribute Gardens, where he, along with one hundred forty-seven other children, would spend the rest of eternity.

I'm sure Katniss would have liked to have had the opportunity to say goodbye...but the dead don't keep for long in the summer heat here in District Twelve.

I was so disturbed by the scenes of Gale's coffin being unloaded that I almost missed the end of the broadcast...which, for me, turned out to be the most important ten minutes of the entire show.

The sound of Cressida's voice snapped me back to the present. "Good evening, Panem," she begins. "Last night, an interview featuring Peeta Mellark, the young man from District Twelve that was Reaped, and then replaced, by Gale Hawthorne, was broadcast. This interview was a complete fabrication from start to finish. Peeta Mellark's words were twisted and taken completely out of context by an unscrupulous individual who thought nothing of sacrificing journalistic integrity in the pursuit of higher ratings." Cressida pauses and looks directly into the camera.

"Therefore," she continues, "in the interests of truth and journalistic integrity, I have obtained the original, unedited interview, which I have been given permission to play for you now." I watch as the projection fades and my interview...the  _real_  interview with Bacchus Brandywine...plays over the next several minutes. When it concludes, Cressida's face fades back into the projection, and she simply says, "Thank you for your attention. Thank you, and good night."

My father stands up and, without a word, shuts off the Holo-TV. As he passes me he gently lays one of his big hands on my shoulder and squeezes firmly. Quinn also says nothing, but pats me on the other shoulder as he heads upstairs to bed. Even my mother, never given to any kind of affectionate display, touches my cheek as she, too, heads upstairs.

I finally climb upstairs to bed, after sitting alone for several minutes. For the first time in weeks, I finally have hope that things will start to turn around for me soon. I just hope that Cressida didn't have to pay too high a price to help me.

**PART II**

It takes almost no time for things to return to normal in District Twelve. The day after her arrival home, Katniss, along with Mrs. Everdeen and Prim, moves in to her new home in Victor's Village. This occurred with no fanfare or cameras...in fact, it happened while I was in school.

And, as it turned out, Prim was in school also. I guess the school administration didn't consider a sibling surviving the Hunger Games and a move to Victor's Village sufficient grounds for actually missing a day. I remember thinking that it must be a weird feeling to wake up in a ramshackle Seam house, only to go "home" that afternoon to a mansion.

I tried several times during the day to speak to Prim, just to offer my congratulations on her sister's homecoming, but I could never get close enough. Every time I saw her classmates and teachers alike were mobbing her. My congratulations would just have to wait.

Things returned to normal for me as well. Enough people saw the retraction that Cressida had aired that the attacks on my families' home and business stopped. But, at the same time, enough doubt had been planted in people's minds over the last few weeks. I was still virtually invisible to almost everyone in District Twelve.

_Almost_  everyone. My two closest friends, Delly Cartwright and Madge Undersee, began to make overtures to me the day after Katniss's homecoming. Delly, of course, was very up front about it, joining me on the walk to school, apologizing profusely almost the entire walk, and joining me for lunch. For the first time since the summer session began I am not eating alone. I didn't realize until then just how much I missed having someone to eat lunch with.

Madge, of course, was more discreet and low key. She showed up at the bakery the afternoon after the Homecoming to buy some bread, took me aside, and quietly apologized. What she said before she hugged me gently and kissed my cheek made me think, even late into that night.

"I don't expect you to ever fully forgive me, Peeta. I just hope that you can understand why."

Forgive. Understand. At least Delly and Madge could admit that they were wrong. It was a start. I stare into the darkness for a long time before finally drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

I finally manage to talk to Prim two days later. Her transformation has been incredible. Gone is the skinny little girl with the worn, threadbare clothes. Now she is pink-cheeked, her hair brushed to a high shine, and dressed in new, expensive clothing. She's still skinny, but having plenty to eat these past few days has obviously agreed with her.

Yet, when I finally talk to her, she looks exhausted...and miserable.

I run into her during third period, when I excused myself to use the restroom. Grudgingly the teacher handed me a hall pass and an admonishment not to be long. I wasn't. And as soon as I leave the boy's restroom I literally run into Prim coming out of the girl's room.

"Excuse - oh! Prim! Hi! Sorry," I stammer, "I didn't mean to run into you!"

"Hey, Peeta," she replies tiredly, giving me a wan smile.

"I, uhh...well, I was hoping to...anyway," I continue to stammer, "Congratulations! I bet it's great having Katniss home!"

"Yeah, great," Prim says tonelessly. I examine her face closely and notice the bags under her eyes. I know the look. This girl has not been sleeping well.

"Is everything alright?" I ask, concern in my voice.

Prim looks at me with pleading eyes. "You can't say anything to anyone," she says softly. "Promise?"

"Promise," I say. "What is it?"

Prim hesitates for a moment before speaking. "It...it's Katniss. Oh, Peeta, I was  _so_  happy to get her back! And she was too! But...she's not the same Katniss. She's changed, Peeta!"

"Well, I imagine the Games do change people," I reply, thinking about what my father had told me about Haymitch Abernathy and how he had changed.

"That's not all," Prim says hesitantly. "She...Peeta, she wakes up screaming every night.  _Every night!_  Sometimes she's able to go back to sleep...sometimes she wakes up screaming again. I was up half the night with her last night. It's  _awful_ , Peeta! I was holding her like a baby while she cried!"

I can see that Prim is on the verge of tears. I gently lay my hand on her shoulder. "Isn't there someone that you can call for help? Someone in the Capitol? Someone with the Games?"

"Mom wanted to," Prim says. "Katniss told her not to. They had a big fight about it. Peeta, this isn't how I imagined  _any_  of this to be!"

"I wish I could help, Prim," I say gently. "Snow knows you and your mother have done so much for me. If there's anything I can do..."

Prim hugs me quickly. "Thank you," she whispers. "It helped to just talk a little about it."

I smile at her. "Any time you need to talk..."

"I will," she promises. "I have to go before my teacher comes looking for me. See you later, Peeta."

"Okay, Prim," I reply. "I gotta go too. See you later." With a final, sad, smile, Prim turns and hurries back down the hall.

I walk back to my classroom, very subdued. Katniss was a Victor...and apparently, Victors always return from the Games changed...and not for the better.

**PART III**

The first time that I actually see Katniss is on the first Saturday after her Homecoming, when she comes into the bakery.

It was late in the morning, around ten-thirty. The morning rush, such as it is now that things are back to normal, ended a half-hour or so earlier. My mother and my brothers had left a few minutes before, bound for the train station and a new shipment of flour and sundries needed for the bakery. My father and I were the only ones left, both of us slipping away from the front counter for a few minutes to tend to the ovens.

The tinkling of the bell above our door alerts us to a customer. Poppa was busy kneading a batch of dough, while I was arranging different breads on racks that I would be taking up front to put in the display case.

"I'll get it," I say when I hear the bell. Poppa looks up and smiles. Things seem to be getting better with us...at least I hope so. I had always been close to my father, and not having that recently was one of the hardest things that I had to deal with.

I quickly wipe my hands on a towel and hurry to the front. As I go through the door I say, "Good morning. How can I help -"

That's as far as I get. Standing on the other side of the counter is Katniss Everdeen.

I stop dead in my tracks, the shock at seeing her standing in front of the display case causing me to freeze momentarily. Katniss stares back impassively, her eyes narrowing slightly when she sees me. I take her in at a glance as I struggle to regain my composure. I've only been this close to her one time before...at the Reaping. I can feel my heart thudding in my chest and my palms go suddenly clammy.

I see that her hair is done up in its usual braid. She's dressed casually, yet her clothes are obviously new and probably quite expensive. I can't help but notice the bags under her eyes... _Prim was right. She's not sleeping well_...and just in time I remember what Poppa had told my brothers and I.

_Katniss Everdeen is a Victor now, boys,_  he had said.  _She and Haymitch Abernathy are the richest people in the district. Remember that if you ever need to speak with her. Be respectful at all times. It's "Miss Everdeen." Never "Katniss." Okay?_

Katniss...no,  _Miss Everdeen_ , sighs impatiently as I finally regain control of my voice. "Uhh...good morning, Miss Everdeen," I stammer. "How may I help you?"

"Is the baker here?" She asks in a flat voice.

"Uhh, yes. He's in back," I reply.

"Get him," she orders.

"Uhh, he...he's a little busy right now," I explain. "I'm sure I'll be able to help -"

"Now!" she says sharply, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

I feel myself blush furiously at her rebuke and I hate myself for it. "Yes, ma'am. Right away." I scurry into the back, where my father is elbow-deep in bread dough.

Poppa looks up and smiles. "Everything alright, son?" He asks.

"It...it's Katniss Everdeen," I stammer. "She...she wants to talk to you."

"Katniss Everdeen?" Poppa stops kneading the dough and grabs a towel to wipe off his hands. "Did she say what she wanted?"

"No," I reply.  _No, she just barked at me like I was...like I was beneath her or something._

Poppa quickly covers the dough he had been working on with damp towels. "Okay," he says, "Let's go see what our new Victor wants."

I follow Poppa back to the front of the bakery. Katniss is still standing there impatiently, examining something on the wall. With a rush of embarrassment, I realize that she's reading the tax lien that we have been required to post...including my "Fiscal Tesserae" agreement.

Katniss turns and faces us when she hears us enter the front of the bakery, a small smile playing on her lips. I feel a sudden rush of embarrassment, mixed with anger, when I realize that she's smiling because she read that I was forced to take "Fiscal Tesserae" to help my family.

_It's no different!_  I wanted to scream at her.  _It's no different than you taking Tesserae for oil and grain to feed your mother and sister!_ But, even as these thoughts crossed my mind, I knew that there was a  _huge_  difference. Katniss took her Tesserae voluntarily. I had to be forced to take mine.

"Good morning, Miss Everdeen," my father says cheerily. "How may I help you today?"

Katniss produces a leather, drawstring bag, opens it, and dumps a pile of coins on the counter. "I need to buy bread," she explains. "Enough for a family of four."

"Well, you've certainly come to the right place!" My father says cheerfully. In response, Katniss just stares at him impassively.

"Is this enough?" she asks, indicating the pile of coins. "Or do you need more?"

"Does this family," my father asks cautiously, "have any way to refrigerate or chill food?"

Katniss shakes her head. "No."

"Well, then," Poppa says thoughtfully, "my suggestion would be to buy no more than a weeks' worth at a time, especially now that it's summer. In the winter, snow can be used to make a temporary icebox, so bread will keep longer. But now, anything longer than a week and you'll have problems with mold, not to mention staleness."

"So how much for a week, then?" Katniss asks impatiently.

Poppa eyes the pile of coins, and then carefully separates a few out, leaving the bulk in its original pile. "This will cover a week."

Katniss scoops up the rest and dumps them back into her drawstring bag. "I need the bread to be delivered to the Seam. Today."

"Of course, Miss Everdeen," Poppa replies. He pulls out an order pad and begins to write. "One assortment of bread...family of four. To what address?"

Katniss looks pointedly at me. "To the Hawthorne's house."

"Very good," Poppa says as he writes. "Is this afternoon acceptable?"

Katniss nods. "Yes. Is the butcher working today?"

"Rooba? She should be," Poppa replies.

"Good," Katniss says as she turns to go. At the door she stops suddenly, as if she's forgotten something, and looks back at Poppa and I over her shoulder. "Thank you."

"It's our pleasure," Poppa replies, but by this time he's talking to the door. Katniss is gone.

Poppa sighs and tears off the order slip, handing it to me. "Peeta, please put this order together...after you finish re-stocking the front."

I take the order slip from my father. "Yes, sir."

"Thank you, son," Poppa says as he turns to return to his bread dough. As we walk into the back he mutters, "The Games change everyone. Everyone."

* * *

"You want me to  _what?_ " I look at my mother incredulously.

"You heard me," she snaps. "I want you to make this delivery to the Seam."

"But..." I protest, looking from my mother to my father, "It's the  _Hawthorne's_!"

My mother looks at me impassively. "Your father and brothers are needed here. Besides, you're still on light duty because of your...back. You can't unload and store flour bags."

"Your mother's right, son," Poppa says gently. "You can't do heavy work yet. Just make the delivery quickly and hurry back."

I sigh in disgust. "Fine!" I snap as I rip my apron off. "I'll go!"

"You should feel right at home," my mother says snidely. "As much time as you've spent there recently."

I shake my head as I brush past my parents. "Just once," I mutter as I pass my father. "Just  _once_  I wish you would stick up for me!"

"Peeta -" Poppa begins to say, until I cut him off as I slam the door behind me.

I gather up the order that I put together for the Hawthornes earlier and head out the door. It's a beautiful early summer day in District Twelve. I walk quickly, wanting to get this over with as fast as possible.

I enter the Seam to the usual round of hostile stares. I'm thankful that today is not Sunday, and that the only ones around are mostly kids, with a sprinkling of adults here and there. I find the house easily enough...it's not far from the Everdeen's old house, now standing vacant - it was still assigned to Mrs. Everdeen, as if something happened to Katniss (in other words, if Katniss dies), she and Prim would be forced to move out of Victor's Village and back into this ramshackle home.

Clotheslines, all heavily weighed down by drying laundry surround the Hawthorne house. I vaguely remember hearing that Mrs. Hawthorne supports her family by doing laundry. I duck around a worn sheet flapping in the light breeze, take a deep breath, and approach the front door.

I hesitate for just a moment before I knock twice, firmly.  _Maybe no one is home_ , I say to myself, and then hear the sounds of footsteps approaching the door. The door opens on creaky hinges, and, for the first time since Reaping Day, I'm face to face with Hazelle Hawthorne.

Her eyes narrow when she sees me standing on her front porch. "What the hell do  _you_  want?" She spits.

"I uhh...that is to say, I've brought...here," I stammer, thrusting the box at her.

Mrs. Hawthorne takes the box out of sheer reflex, eying it suspiciously. "What is it?"

"It's...it's bread," I explain haltingly. "A week's worth."

Mrs. Hawthorne shoves the box roughly back at me. "Take it back, boy!" She snaps. "I don't want no phony Merchant charity!"

"It's not..." I say, fumbling with the box, "I mean, it's not charity. Not from us. Katniss...I mean, Miss Everdeen...she came in today and bought it. For you."

Mrs. Hawthorne's gaze softens just a bit at Katniss's name. "Katniss? She...she bought this? For me? For us?"

"Yes, ma'am," I reply, holding the box out to her. Mrs. Hawthorne tentatively takes the box from me, looking inside curiously.

"She shouldn't have," Mrs. Hawthorne softly says. "She knows I can't never pay her back."

"I..." I stammer, "I don't think...she expects repayment."

Mrs. Hawthorne glances up at me over the box. "She knows how it is here, though."

"Yes, ma'am," I reply. I clear my throat. "Mrs. Hawthorne...for what it's worth...I'm really, truly sorry."

She looks at me steadily before replying. "For what, boy?"

"For..." I hesitate for a moment. "For...everything."

Mrs. Hawthorne drops her eyes back to the box that she's cradling. "Well," she says quietly, "that don't bring my boy back, or replace my money, now does it?"

"No, ma'am," I say in a choked voice. "No, but it's all I got."

Mrs. Hawthorne looks at me steadily for a moment. "You need to leave. Now."

I nod in response and turn away. I don't take two steps before I hear the door slam behind me.

* * *

The following Saturday, I'm working in the bakery, re-stocking the display case, when Katniss comes in again, and this time she has Prim with her.

I straighten up when I see them enter, brushing my hands off on my apron. "Good morning, Miss Everdeen. Hello, Prim," I say with a smile.

"Hi, Peeta!" Prim says, returning my smile. Katniss glances at her sister, then back at me, her eyes narrowed just a bit.  _She doesn't like me speaking to her sister in such a familiar way,_  I realize.

"Where's the baker?" Katniss asks flatly.

"In back," I reply, trying to hide my irritation at how she's speaking to me.

"Get him," she demands. Feeling my face flush, I mutter, "Yes, ma'am," and disappear into the back. I can hear Prim sharply rebuking Katniss as I look for my father.

"Katniss, what's  _wrong_  with you?" Prim asks. "That's not like you  _at all_!"

"We'll talk about this later, Prim," I hear Katniss replies firmly.

I find Poppa in the office, looking over some papers. I knock softly on the doorjamb. Poppa looks up at me, eyebrows raised.

"Katniss and Primrose Everdeen are here," I announce tonelessly.

Poppa sighs. "Okay," he says as he puts his pencil down and stands up. I follow him back to the front of the bakery like I did the previous Saturday.

"Good morning, Miss Everdeen," Poppa says cheerfully. "And good morning, Primrose!"

"Hello, Mr. Mellark!" Prim says, giving my father a sunny smile. Katniss says nothing, but reaches into the same drawstring bag and carefully pulls out a small handful of coins.

She places the coins on the counter. "I believe this is the same amount as last week," she says.

Poppa examines the coins. "Yes," he says, nodding. "Same delivery as before?"

Katniss nods. Poppa turns to me. "Peeta, can you please -"

"No." Poppa and I turn back toward Katniss and Prim. Katniss looks at Poppa and I, and then points a finger at me. "Not him. Get someone else."

"Uhh...that may be a problem," Poppa stammers. "My other sons are in the Square right now, getting ready for Market day tomorrow, and I'm -"

"Didn't you hear me?" Katniss snaps, her voice rising. " _Who_  you get is not  _my_  problem! I said, 'not him!'"

"Katniss!" Prim says, looking at her sister in shock. "What is the  _matter_ with you?"

"It's okay, Poppa." I take my father's arm and pull him to one side. "My back is up to helping set up Market day. I'll send Alec or Quinn back."

Poppa nods once, quickly, then turns back to Katniss and Prim. "I'll...I'll send one of my other sons to make the delivery. Will that be alright?"

"Yes. That's fine." Katniss says, somewhat more quietly. She turns to Prim. "Come on, Little Duck. We have to stop at the butchers and grocers also."

Prim nods, and then looks up at Poppa and I. "Thank you, Mr. Mellark...Peeta. This is the first time I've ever been in the bakery. It smells so good in here!" It was obvious that she was making an effort to smooth things over before she and Katniss leave.

Poppa smiles at Prim as he says, "Come again soon!"

Katniss glances at Poppa and I, then down at Prim as she drapes her arm around her sister's shoulders. "Oh, yes, Prim," she says with an edge to her voice, "we'll be back. After all, we're not Seam trash anymore, right? We're welcome here  _now_."

"Who do you think you are?" I sputter, my anger welling up inside me. For a moment, I totally forget that I've loved this girl for eleven years. "How dare you!"

Katniss freezes in her tracks and turns a steely gaze towards me. " _What_  did you say?"

I can feel myself almost shaking with anger. "If you have some sort of problem with me, that's fine." I say. "Snow knows you won't be the only one in Twelve that does! But don't you  _dare_ take it out on my father! He's  _always_  treated you fairly...and decently!  _Always_!"

"Son -" Poppa says, grabbing my shoulder firmly.

"No, Poppa!" I shake his hand off my shoulder. "And where do you get off treating us like we're your servants or something? Huh? Try saying 'please,' and 'thank you' once in a while!" I pause, returning Katniss's glare with one of my own. "What happened to Katniss Everdeen? Where's the girl that traded my father squirrels for bread?"

Katniss stares at me for what seems like an eternity. When she finally speaks, it's with a lifetime of sadness behind each word.

"She died in the arena." Katniss looks down at her sister and says quietly, "Time to go, Prim."

Poppa and I watch them leave. I feel my heart sink in my chest. "She's gone," I whisper.

Poppa squeezes my arm. "She'll be back next week, son," he says. "And don't worry about blowing up. You...you stood up for me. I've never been prouder of you. Thank you, son."

I shake my head sadly. "You don't get it, do you?" I ask. "She's gone...and she'll never be back."

**PART IV**

Parcel Day.

About a week following my blow-up at Katniss, District Twelve celebrates its first Parcel Day in twenty-four years. There would be eleven more of these, but the first one was always special. Special trains have been arriving for the past week, carrying carnival rides, prefabricated food and game booths, and a large circus tent...all courtesy of the Capitol. The first Parcel Day was also a district-wide party, with all expenses paid for by the Capitol. Everyone in the district was eagerly looking forward to having an unplanned mid-summer holiday.

Except me.

Katniss didn't show up at the bakery yesterday. Prim came instead. Truthfully, I had been avoiding Prim at school. The last thing I wanted was a confrontation with another Everdeen sister. On Saturday I made it a point to work in the back as much as possible, dreading every time I hear the bell above the door jingle.

Quinn was working in the front when Prim came in. I was busy decorating a Parcel Day cake for Mayor Undersee when Quinn poked his head around the corner.

"Peeta," he says quietly. "You're wanted up front."

I glance up at him in alarm. "Who -"

"It's not her," he assures me. "It's...her little sister."

"Quinn," I plead, "Can you take care of her? Please?"

"She asked for you," Quinn replies. "And...I don't think she's pissed. Go on. You can't avoid her forever."

I sigh and put the frosting gun down, grabbing a towel to wipe off my hands. "Tell her I'll be right there."

"You got it," Quinn says, disappearing as he retreats to the front of the bakery.

I walk up front on heavy legs, dreading the scene that I'm sure awaits me. As I enter the front of the bakery I see Quinn standing with Prim. Quinn then turns when he hears me come in, gives me a small smile, and then turns back to Prim.

"I'll get started on this order," he says. "And I'll deliver it this afternoon."

"Thank you so much," Prim says as my brother retreats into the back.

I face Prim. "Okay," I sigh. "Go ahead."

Prim frowns. "With what?"

"Go ahead and yell at me," I say resignedly. "I deserve it. For yelling at your sister last week. So go ahead."

"Peeta," she says gently. "I'm not here to yell at you. You were right. She was treating you and your father horribly."

"What?" I say in confusion. "Then what -" I sink down on a stool.

"Peeta," Prim says, "Katniss isn't...well, Katniss anymore. She's afraid to go to sleep, when she does sleep she has terrible nightmares, she's scared to death of Buttercup -" no wonder there, after the incident with the mutt-Buttercups in the arena "- she hardly ever smiles, and she's been miserable. I don't know what to do. Mom doesn't know what to do. We talked to Haymitch and he was  _no_  help."

"I'm sorry," I say quietly.

"I think Katniss really feels awful for the way she treated you and your father," Prim continues. "Of course, I had words with her, too, after we left. I've never seen her act like that before!" Prim pauses for a moment. "After we got home last Saturday, she went to her room and cried for two hours."

"She was probably upset by you yelling at her," I say with a rueful smile. "She adores you."

Prim shrugs her shoulders. "Maybe. But she was upset before I laid in to her. It wasn't just me."

"I feel awful," I say. Here I am, having no idea what Katniss went through in the arena, and what she still must be going through...and I yell at her.

"Don't," Prim says firmly. "Peeta, part of the problem is that  _everyone_  is treating her differently...even Mom! 'Hello, Miss Everdeen,' 'How may I help you, Miss Everdeen,' 'Is there anything else I can get you, Miss Everdeen,' 'Katniss, I made lamb stew for dinner tonight. It's your favorite, right?'" Prim pauses for a moment. "She's still just  _Katniss_ , Peeta! The same stubborn girl that she was two months ago!" Prim starts to cry. "And I miss her and want her back!"

I stand up from my stool and wrap my arms around Prim and hold her while she cries. "Hey," I say gently. "Maybe...maybe she just needs time."

Prim pulls away from me, wiping her eyes and nose on her sleeve. "Maybe," she says, not sounding convinced. "Don't expect her back here. She asked me to take care of shopping for the Hawthornes from now on. I think she's embarrassed to come back here."

"Okay," I say. I turn to the counter, grab a cookie, and hand it to her. "Here. These always make me feel better."

Prim smiles and takes the cookie, biting into it and rolling her eyes. "Mmm," she sighs. "You're right."

"I'm glad it worked for you, too," I say with a smile, then add, "How are the Hawthorne's doing, by the way?"

"Better," Prim says as she finishes the cookie. "Katniss got Hazelle a new job. She's housekeeping for Haymitch Abernathy."

"How did he take that?" I ask.

"Not very well," Prim replies with a smile. "But Katniss won. She's even more stubborn than he is. Katniss told him that we wouldn't come near his house until he hired a housekeeper. Peeta, I went in there once. It was disgusting!"

"Well, it's for his own good then," I say.

"Yeah," Prim says. "Peeta, I have to run and finish up. Remember what I said." She pauses at the door. "If you don't call her 'Katniss' the next time you see her, I  _will_  get mad at you!"

"It's a deal," I promise her. "And Prim?"

"Yes?"

"Does Katniss...I mean, does she...has she heard the rumors? About me?" I ask.

"I'm sure she has," Prim replies. "But she hasn't said anything. Peeta, if she's heard the rumors, then she's also heard that they're false."

I thank her and watch her head over to Rooba's butcher shop. I sigh and return to the back, and my cake decorating. So she's probably heard. Whether she believes or not isn't the point.

Katniss needs someone to blame for Gale's death...and I'm handy.

* * *

It's Parcel Day, and I've never seen District Twelve look so festive. We awoke to the parcels too large to hand out being stacked by our front door...cans of oil, bundles of wood and coal, staples like potatoes, onions, carrots, bags of fine white flour (ironic since we run the bakery), and bags of sugar. The smaller items will be handed out at the train station later on today.

We gratefully lug all of our large Parcels inside. More so than many Merchant families, the Parcels will come in handy...we had to replace windows in the house and the bakery, and glass is expensive.

After we store our larger parcels, it's time to get ready to head to the train station, where individual Parcels will be distributed. I'm dreading this part...I know that Katniss, as the new Victor, is expected (required?) to be on hand for the first Parcel day to distribute the Capitol's bounty.

_There's no way that she will be able to hand out Parcels to everyone in the district,_ I say to myself.  _I'll just find another line to get into and let some Capitol official or District Six freight handler give me mine._

When my family and I enter the Square we find that it's already crowded. The stage used for the Reapings has been set up again in front of the Justice Building, this time for speeches to be given later on today. Carnival rides are already operating, people are lining up at the food booths, and everyone seems to be having a wonderful time.

I just wish this day would be over. Just let me get my Parcel and go home. But I know, if the number of Peacekeepers patrolling the Square is any indication, that sneaking off will be next to impossible. We can go home to drop off our Parcels, but we will be expected to rejoin the festivities immediately afterward.

I can feel my stomach tightening into a knot the closer we get to the train station. I can see a constant stream of people entering and exiting the station...the ones coming out clutching boxes and baskets of every shape and size, kids happily biting into juicy red apples or golden yellow pears as they make their way home with their prizes.

My family and I enter the station and the chaotic scene inside. Peacekeepers are trying to keep some semblance of order in the several lines that have formed, with little success. At first I'm amazed at the restraint that the Peacekeepers are showing...usually they aren't so "gentle" when dealing with a crowd...until I spot several camera crews busily recording the scene.

_No,_ I say to myself,  _No, it wouldn't do to have Peacekeepers clubbing unruly district residents on their very first Parcel Day._

My family splits up after we enter the station, each heading to a different line. The line in the center is significantly longer than the others, and, tracing it to the front, I can see why. This is Katniss's line. Everyone in the district, it seems, wants to receive his or her Parcels directly from the Victor. I deliberately join one of the shorter lines as far from the middle line as possible.

"Peeta!" I hear a feminine voice call my name. I turn, searching for the source, and wishing that whoever it is would stop calling attention to the fact that I'm here.

"Peeta!" I spot the source as she hurries over to me. Cressida, along with her assistant, Messalla, and her camera duo, Castor and Pollux. I wave and smile wanly as they approach.

"Hi, Cressida," I say as she reaches me. "Messalla...Castor...Pollux." I greet the others in turn. "Here to cover Parcel Day?" I ask.

"Of course," Cressida replies with a smile. "Among others, of course...and  _not_  including Bacchus Brandywine!"

"Speaking of him," I say in a low voice, "I want to thank you for airing that piece you did. I hope you didn't get into too much trouble because of it."

"Peeta, I had to do the right thing," Cressida says, waving off my thanks. "And I just had to call in a couple of favors. I was happy to help!" Cressida glances over her shoulder at the Katniss line. "Listen, I was wondering if you would do something for me."

"Of course," I immediately agree. "I owe you a favor."

"Good," Cressida says. "I would like to record you getting your Parcel from Katniss. I think it would make a great little piece...the Victor handing a Parcel to the boy that almost became her district partner."

I feel my face drain of color. "Uhh...I'm not so sure that's a good idea," I say quietly. "Cressida, she  _knows_. And I think her mind's made up on whether or not the rumors are true. Aside from that, there was an...incident between her and I in the bakery two Saturdays ago." I quickly explain what had happened between Katniss and myself.

Cressida listens with a grave expression on her face. "Hmmm. I see what you mean. Listen. I'll go talk to her. If she is okay with it, will you do it?"

I hesitate for a moment, and then reluctantly nod my head. "I don't want to...but I do owe you. Okay, I'll do it... _if_ she agrees." Cressida smiles in relief and turns toward the train. "And Cressida... _if_  she agrees, I wait in line like everyone else. I don't want to give anyone here another excuse to hate me."

Cressida nods. "I'll be right back." She leaves, her crew trailing close behind her, leaving me once again with my thoughts.

I'm not alone for long, as I feel a gentle hand touch my shoulder. Startled, I jump a little and turn to see Madge Undersee standing just behind me.

"Sorry," she says contritely. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's okay," I mumble. "Come to collect your Parcel?"

Madge leans in closer to me. "My father doesn't think it would look very good for the Mayor and his family to be collecting Parcels for themselves. He arranged for the freight master to hold our Parcels until later, after everyone else has received theirs."

"Oh," is all I can think of saying.

"I heard that you yelled at Katniss last week," Madge says quietly.

I look at her in alarm. "Who...who told you that?" I ask warily.

"Katniss," Madge replies. "Who else? I see her a couple times a week, usually. She was over at my house the other day. She told me then." Madge pauses, looking into my eyes. An uncommonly pretty girl, her eyes are as blue as mine. "Peeta, I'm not making excuses for her -"

"Then don't," I snap. "She came into the bakery twice, and twice she treated me  _and_  my father like shit." I pause to control my rising anger at the memory. "I snapped and yelled at her. She had no right to talk to him like that. None. I don't care if she is a Victor!"

"You don't know her like I do," Madge continues. "She's had a hard life. You know that. And she had to watch her best friend die. She's having a really hard time dealing with everything. She hardly ever leaves her house in the Village, except to walk her sister home from school."

"I didn't know she walked Prim home every day," I mutter.

"Every day," Madge says, nodding her head. "She stays out of sight. You know the groundskeepers outbuilding in the corner of the big yard?" I nod. "She waits behind it every day, so nobody sees her."

I say nothing. "Peeta, don't you  _get_  it?" Madge continues. "Katniss...well, I'm the closest thing she has left to a friend. She's living in a mansion, she has more money then she'll ever need, she's famous throughout Panem...and she's  _miserable_!"

"Prim told me that she has nightmares every night," I offer.

"I didn't know that," Madge admits. "But I know she's not sleeping well. Peeta, Katniss is...well, she's my friend, but we don't talk a lot. Sometimes she comes over to my house just to listen to me play the piano. She only talks when she has something to say. So your yelling at her must have really bothered her for her to tell me about it."

"I guess I ruined my chances with her," I say ruefully, half-joking. "Not that I ever had much of a chance with her anyway."

"Peeta, the only one that ever did is dead now," Madge says gently. "Look, I have to run. Find me later on...you, me and Delly will go on one of those Capitol carnival rides!"

I laugh as Madge gives me a quick hug. "I'm not sure about those...some of them look scary!"

"See you later, Peeta!" Madge says as she hurries away, just as Cressida returns.

"It's all set," Cressida announces. "Katniss said yes. Come on." Cressida takes my arm and pulls me into the Katniss line.

"Wait," I say. "Just like that?"

Cressida smiles. "Well, no, not 'just like that.' I can be very persuasive when I have to be. Peeta, truthfully, I think that whole incident embarrassed her, and she wasn't quite sure how to handle it."

The line moves fairly quickly. "I hope you're right," I mutter as I creep closer to the front.

Finally, a Peacekeeper takes my arm and guides me to the train. I look over and see that it's Darius. He doesn't smile but gives my arm a squeeze and gives me a quick wink. I step up to the train and see Katniss, looking slightly disheveled, standing near the open door, a Parcel in her hands.

Both Katniss and I are very aware of Cressida's cameras recording our every move. Katniss bends over gracefully and holds the Parcel out to me.

"Here you go," she says quietly. I reach up and take the Parcel from her hands.

I look up at her...at her haunted eyes, exhaustion creases on her face. She pauses to brush a stray strand of hair from her eyes, tucking the offending lock behind one ear.  _I wish I hadn't yelled at you. I wish I hadn't said those things to you._

I smile and say, "Thank you...Katniss."

Katniss pauses for just a second, and I see her lips twitch slightly as she softly says, "You're welcome."

I feel a different Peacekeeper's firm hand on my shoulder, guiding me away. I glance back at Katniss one time as I walk away. Briefly, her eyes flicker over mine, then she's smiling and handing a Parcel to a little boy who couldn't have been more than five.

Cressida is thanking me for cooperating. I just nod, clutching my Parcel as I walk away from the train station. I don't see my family anywhere. Perhaps they've already received their Parcels and returned home to drop them off.

The last thing Cressida says to me is to be sure to watch the Parcel Day coverage the next night. I never did get to see it. We had no electricity for the Holo-TV that night.

I quickly drop off my own Parcel, and then rejoin the rest of the district. I quickly find Madge and Delly, and they even manage to talk me into riding some of the carnival rides. I don't see Katniss any more this day except during the speeches later in the afternoon.

She looked the way I felt. Like she just wanted to go home.

**PART V**

Life seemed to settle down after the first Parcel Day. The routine of bakery/school/bakery filled my days. Gradually, people even began to speak to me again...although the only two friends that I could really count on are Delly and Madge.

I see Prim Everdeen at school sometimes, and, of course, every Saturday at the bakery. I always make it a point to be the one to help her when she does come in. I always ask her about Katniss. I never mention that I know that Katniss walks her home from school each day.

Prim tells me that Katniss still wakes up screaming almost every night, but that she's learned to take little catnaps during the day. She also tells me that, starting the weekend after our first Parcel Day, she's taken Rory Hawthorne under her wing...taking him out into the forest to teach him to hunt, trap, fish, and forage. Squirrel and rabbit once again make an appearance in District Twelve...except that Katniss no longer appears at the back door of the bakery to sell or trade her squirrels.

I ask Poppa about that one day...if he misses fresh squirrel. "Son," he tells me, "If you want to know the truth, I really don't care all that much for squirrel. I was just trying to help the girl out."

I was shocked. Poppa always raved about Katniss's squirrels. "She gets them through the eye, every time!" He would say. "She doesn't mess up any of their meat!"

I guess the old saying is true. You do learn something new every day.

And so, that was how life settled in here in District Twelve. We have another Parcel Day...this one without fanfare or carnivals. We simply wake up one morning to the large Parcels outside our front door and a large freight train at the station. Katniss is nowhere in sight for this Parcel Day. We just lined up, take our boxes and baskets, and go home.

We even get used to having twice as many Peacekeepers as we did before Katniss was named the Victor. My father's dire predictions of daily floggings in the Square and hangings on weekends didn't ever materialize. These Peacekeepers settled in just like their predecessors...for the most part. There would always be Peacekeepers like Bellatrix Breccia for every decent sort like Darius Potter.

I began to feel complacent. Life was returning to normal. Then, one day, the bottom fell out from under me and changed the direction that my life would take forever.

* * *

I come home from school one day, quickly change into my work clothes, head into the bakery, grab an apron and my job sheet, and go to work. It was a day just like any other day.

"Where are Poppa and mother?" I ask Quinn as I take a batch of fresh sugar cookies and begin to decorate them.

Quinn slides some bread pans into the oven before replying. "In there," he says, jerking his head toward the office. I glance over and see that the door is closed.

"They've sure been spending a lot of time in there lately," I mutter as I turn to my work.

I've been working on this batch of cookies for maybe a half hour when the office door opens. "Peeta," my father says quietly. "Can you come in here for a moment?"

"Sure," I reply, wiping my hands on a towel, then stepping into the office. Poppa closes the door behind me.

"Sit down," Poppa says, pointing at a stool. I sit, suddenly hit by a feeling that something bad is going on...and I'm somehow involved.

"It's like this, son," Poppa says. "You know, that according to law, once you turn eighteen and are out of school, we have to pay you."

"Yes," I say, nodding. "I know this."

"We pay your brothers," Poppa continues, "and, even though we aren't required to, we pay you a little also."

"What are you getting at, Poppa?" I ask, even though I think I already know the answer.

"Business...business hasn't been, well, as good as we've hoped for the last few months," Poppa explains. "And that tax lien took most of our cushion money away. We have a little time, but we had to make some hard decisions, and -"

"What your father is trying to say, son," my mother interjects, "is this...when you turn eighteen in a little less than two years, we won't have money to pay you. And we're required to pay you then. It's the law."

"We tried, son," Poppa says quickly. "But we just won't be able to do it."

"What are you trying to say?" I ask, my voice trembling.

"When you turn eighteen, and you're out of school, you'll have to find another line of work," my mother says bluntly. "We can't afford you then."

I sit, stunned. Another line of work? Like what? I don't know how to do anything else but bake. There's only one option available in District Twelve for unskilled labor.

The mines.

I wouldn't be the first Merchant to end up working in the mines. But I know one thing...there's a reason why you don't see any old miners in Twelve. If an explosion or cave-in doesn't kill you, Miner's Cough certainly would. It's rare for a miner to live to see fifty. Most die long before then.

What my mother has just told me wasn't that I have to find another line of work. It's a death sentence, carried out over twenty-five or more years.

"The mines," I whisper.

"I'm sorry, son," Poppa says apologetically.

I stand up so fast I knock the stool over. "That's not an option!" I yell. "That's a fucking death sentence!"

"Don't take that tone  _or_  that language with us!" My mother barks.

In response, I rip my apron off, wad it into a ball, and throw it in my mother's face. "Here!" I bark. "I'll save you the trouble. I quit. Have Alec or Quinn decorate your fucking cookies and cakes."

"You can't quit!" My mother snaps, tossing the apron back at me. I bat it down with one hand. "You have to work for us until you're eighteen!"

"No it doesn't," Poppa says tiredly. "It says that a juvenile may work in the family business until age eighteen, or out of school, as long as the work doesn't interfere with the juvenile's education. Peeta can set his own hours, if he wants."

"And I've decided that I'm off for the rest of the day!" I glare at my parents one last time before storming out of the office. As I slam the door behind me, I hear Poppa say, "Peeta!" and my mother instantly respond with, "Oh, let him go. He'll be back."

"What's going on?" Quinn asks as I storm past him.

"Fuck you, Quinn," I snarl as I slam the back door behind me. I don't know where I'm going. I just stumble aimlessly through the streets until I finally reach the district boundary fence...and the Meadow.

My mind whirling, I sit down heavily on the grassy rise near a stand of trees. The mines. Two years.  _What the fuck am I gonna do?_

I pluck blades of grass as I stare off into space. I hear a soft noise off to my right and glance over just in time to see Katniss Everdeen, followed by Rory Hawthorn, slip through a hole in the fence and head off towards Victor's Village. Neither of them sees me.

_Must have been a quick trip into the woods today,_  I say to myself.

My mine returns to my latest plight. I can't go in the mines. That's not an option. I know what the mines do to people...and even if I did, I know I wouldn't get any help from the other miners. I had heard stories about Merchants going into the mines, and Seam miners giving them the dirtiest, most dangerous jobs to do. Seam has always resented Merchants, and this was their way of exacting a little payback.  _All that means is that I'll die a little faster, that's all._

Suddenly, it hits me. I know what I have to do...what I  _must_  do, if I am to ever control my own destiny, and, at the same time, regain some respect. It's crazy...no, insane...and that's why I think it just might work.

I stand up, brushing grass and dirt off my pants. I turn to head back into town. I feel strangely calm, now that it's become clear what I must do.

If I succeed, I'll have won everything. And if I fail, well, at least it's better than the death sentence of the mines.

No matter what...at this point, I have absolutely nothing to lose.


	10. Chapter 10

**BOOK IV - RETRIBUTION**

**Retribution - Punishment inflicted on someone as vengeance for a wrong**

**CHAPTER 10**

**PART I**

As I begin to trek back into town, I suddenly stop.

_Why go back? There's nothing for me there. No future other than a slow, painful death from Miner's Cough. No family...they've tossed me aside as if I don't matter._

I gaze off in the direction of Victor's Village.  _It's too crazy. It'll never work._  I hesitate, then turn and stride resolutely towards the Village.  _What have I got to lose? The worst that'll happen is that he'll say no._

Soon, the arched gateway that's the entrance to the Village looms in front of me. I hesitate once more...I've never even been this close, let alone actually inside, the Village.  _What if I run into Prim...or worse, Katniss? What do I tell them? How do I explain why I'm even here?_

I shake it off and square my shoulders, and then walk under the arch into the Village. As I gaze at the double row of mansions, six to a side, all facing each other over the circular drive and the beautifully manicured center Green, I stop again.  _Which house is his?_

Twelve homes...only two occupied. One that belonged to District Twelve's first ever Victor...a woman that won in the early days of the Games, before the Career academies were firmly established, and who died several years before Haymitch's Victory in the Second Quarter Quell.  _Only one way to figure out which house is his._  I take a deep breath, turn to my right, and walk up to the very first mansion.

As I walk up the steps to the front door, I sense that this house is empty. It's dark, and it doesn't, well,  _smell_  lived in. I don't even bother knocking. I head to the second house...same thing. There are lights on in the third house, but, as I stand on the stoop, knocker in hand, I freeze when I hear the sounds of feminine voices coming from inside. No. Not this house.  _Katniss_  lives here.

As quietly as possible, I slink off the stoop, back down the steps, and practically run to the next house. No light...but the smell of food coming from inside the house tells me I've found the right place. I take a deep breath, grab the knocker, and tap it on the striker three times.

And wait. And wait. And wait some more. I tap the knocker on the striker again, more insistently this time.  _Does Katniss knock or does she just let herself in? Does she even come over here? Oh, shit, what if Hazelle Hawthorne is still here? I would rather run in to Katniss!_

There's still no answer. I give up on the knocker, and, in frustration, pound my fist against the door.  _Come on you old drunk...answer your fucking door!_  I pound my fist against the door again.

And it opens.

I stare, mouth agape, as Haymitch Abernathy stares, bleary-eyed, at me. He frowns, his eyes struggling to focus.

"What the fuck?" He mumbles. "You ain't no Peacekeeper."

"Uhhh, no. No, sir," I stammer. "I...I'm Liam Mellark's youngest son. My name's -"

"Peety!" Haymitch says triumphantly, taking a pull from a bottle of white liquor that I didn't even see he was holding.

"Peeta," I correct him. "Peeta Mellark. I -"

Haymitch snaps his fingers. "You're the kid that was Reaped last Games! The one Hawthorne volunteered for!" He sways a bit and takes another pull from the bottle. "At least, I  _think_  you are. I, uhh, had a little accident that day."

_You mean you were shitfaced drunk and fell off the stage and knocked yourself out._

"Yes, sir," I say.

"Well, Gale Hawthorne's dead, boy." Haymitch peers at me. "And you're alive. Looks like the odds were in your favor, boy." Haymitch cackles with laughter and I feel anger welling up inside me.

"Don't call me 'boy!'" I snap, slamming the palm of my hand against the half-open door, shoving it wide open and causing Haymitch to stagger back. I step into the house quickly and slam the door behind me. "I've eaten shit for weeks and got  _this_  -" I hike my shirt up and turn around, exposing my scarred back to him "- all for something I  _didn't do!_ "

"Holy shit," I hear Haymitch mutter. "Got yourself striped but good! Where the hell was I when all this was going on?"

"At the Games," I mutter as I pull my shirt down and turn back to face him. "With Gale and Katniss."

"That was  _you_?" Haymitch says in surprise. "I'd heard something about a kid getting striped, but...that was  _you_?"

"That was me," I reply grimly. "For the crime of bribing Gale Hawthorne to take my place in the Hunger Games."

Haymitch shakes his head in disgust. "That's the biggest fucking load of bullshit I've ever heard," he mutters. "Where'd Cray get that crazy idea from?"

"From Udo Donner," I reply bitterly.

"Figures," Haymitch mutters. "Udo's always been a little punk. Okay, ki -, I mean, 'Peeta,'" Haymitch continues. "Whadda ya want from me?"

"Your help," I reply simply.

Haymitch frowns. "I don't get it," he says. "Help with what, exactly?"

I take a deep breath before replying. "I want you to train me for the Games."

* * *

Haymitch stares at me for a long time before he says anything. "Say that one more time."

"I said, I want you to train me for the Games."

Haymitch shakes his head slowly. "Yeah. Okay. That's what I thought you said." He turns and beckons me to follow. "Come with me."

I follow him as we walk through the house...nearly spotless as a result of Hazelle's continual laboring to keep it clean...and through his kitchen, and out his back door. Haymitch pauses, looks toward Katniss's house for a moment, then continues on to the side of his house opposite where Katniss's house is.

"Okay," he says, turning towards me. "I think we're okay now."

"What -" I begin to say, before Haymitch interrupts me.

"Rule number one," he says. "Always... _always_...assume that any house here in the Village is bugged."

"You mean...the Capitol listens to your conversations?" I ask.

Haymitch laughs. "Kid, you might not be dumb after all...although, if what I heard you say is true, well, I'll reserve judgment on that. We should be okay outside, though. I don't  _think_  that they've planted bugs around the houses."

I ignore his comment. "Will you help me?" I ask.

"Before I say anything else," Haymitch replies, "I want to know why."

I quickly explain the sentence that Cray handed down to me, adding Reaping Slips to the bowl, as well as the "Fiscal Tesserae" that my parents all but forced me to take to help save their bakery...the bakery that, apparently, I've been shut out of...and of their decision to cut me loose as soon as I turn eighteen and complete school.

"How many slips did you have this last Reaping?" Haymitch asks.

"Five," I reply.

"And how many will you have -" Haymitch begins.

"Thirty-six next year. Sixty-seven the year after that," I reply flatly.

"Holy shit," Haymitch whistles. "Even kids in large Seam families usually don't have that many."

"I know," I reply. "So you see, Mr. Abernathy, the odds aren't exactly in my favor...especially since I've been told that I can look forward to a life as a coal miner starting right after I finish school."

"And that bothers you, does it?" Haymitch says thoughtfully.

"Well...yes, it bothers me," I reply. "All I have to look forward to there is a slow death from Miner's Cough."

Suddenly Haymitch grabs me by my shirtfront and slams me up against the side of his house. "You little shit," he hisses, "My Poppa and my Momma were coal miners. I was gonna be a coal miner until  _I_  was Reaped. And you somehow think you're  _too good_  to mine coal?" He releases me suddenly, pushing me away.

"I...I never said that," I stammer as I awkwardly fix my collar. "Look. Do you think that your parents...or you, if you hadn't been Reaped...would have passed on a chance to get out of the Seam?"

Haymitch says nothing. "I didn't think so," I say. "Look," I continue, "the way I see it is this...I'll get Reaped next year, or for sure the year after. And even if I don't, all I have to look forward to is a life in the mines and an early death from Miner's Cough." I pause for a moment. "If I don't get Reaped next year, it's my intention to volunteer and replace the boy who does get Reaped. I figure a quick death in the arena is preferable to taking twenty-five years to die if I go to the mines."

"Got it all figured out, do you?" Haymitch grumbles. "Kid, do you know what next year is? It's the Third Quarter Quell. It's every horror you can think of in the Games, times ten! No," he says. "Forget it. I'm not helping you commit suicide."

"Mr. Abernathy," I say calmly, "I'm doing this, with or without your help. I'd prefer with your help, but I'll do it without."

Haymitch doesn't reply right away. Finally he turns to me. "Peety -"

"Pee- _ta_ ," I correct him.

"Whatever." Haymitch fixes me with a stare. "You're certifiable. You realize that, don't you? You're bat shit crazy. You won't stand a chance. You'll probably go down during the bloodbath."

"Not," I reply, "If I'm ready for the Games when I get on the Tribute Train." I pause, searching his face for some kind of sign that he will help me. "I'm asking for your help. A year early." I pause. "Please."

Haymitch chews his thumbnail thoughtfully. "What's in it for me?"

"I can bake just about anything you've ever heard of," I reply. "And I'm a decent all-around cook."

"Okay," Haymitch says. " _If_  I can clear this with the Peacekeepers,  _and_ your parents -" I start to object to the last part until Haymitch stops me with one upraised hand "-  _and_  your parents," he continues, "I'll give it a shot. With conditions."

"Name them," I say.

"Whoa, whoa," Haymitch says. "Don't be so eager. You may not like my conditions."

I stare at him stubbornly. Haymitch sighs. "Please, before I continue, explain to me why you think I can help you."

"You brought Katniss back," I reply simply.

"Katniss," Haymitch says, shaking his head. "Boy, she and Hawthorne had  _years_  of practical wilderness survival experience. I take it you noticed how lethal she is with a bow?" I nod. "Oh, goody, you were paying attention! And now you think that I'm gonna be able to teach you what she and Hawthorne knew?"

"No," I admit. "What she did...that's not my game. But I know there's a lot I can learn from you."

"Okay," Haymitch says. "I just don't want you to expect to be turned into either Everdeen or Hawthorne. All right. Number one. You do as I say and follow my orders exactly and without complaint."

"Done," I reply instantly.

"Hmmph," Haymitch says. "We'll see. Okay. Number two. You train with whomever I say you train with. That may also include Katniss." I stiffen a little at the mention of her name. "Deal?"

I nod stiffly. "Deal." I grumble

Haymitch smiles. "Number three. You call me Haymitch. Mr. Abernathy was my father's name. Deal?"

"Deal," I reply.

"Number four," Haymitch says. "You continue to go to school.  _Every_ day. I don't want Peacekeepers breathing down my neck because you're truant. Deal?"

"Deal."

Haymitch examines me intently, then reaches out and squeezes the biceps of both arms, nodding approvingly. "Any skills I should know about?"

"I wrestle. Placed second all-school last year."

"Hmmpf," Haymitch says. "Who placed first?"

"My brother Quinn," I reply. "This year was his last Reaping."

"Too bad," Haymitch says. "Okay kid," he says, sticking his hand out. "Welcome to the Haymitch Abernathy Hunger Games Training Academy, population: You."

I take his hand, shaking it firmly. "You won't regret this."

"I have news for you, kid," Haymitch says. "I already do."

**PART II**

"Okay," Haymitch says as he walks around the side of the house towards the street. "Let's go."

"Go?" I frown. "Go where?"

"Into Town," he explains. "I need to let your parents know that you're gonna be staying with me for a while."

"Oh, no," I sputter. "No. I'm not going back! Mr. Aber - uhh, Haymitch, I just  _left_ there!"

Haymitch sighs heavily. "Kid, is this how it's gonna be? You arguing with me over everything? Let me explain something to you...you don't have a choice. If you don't go home tonight your Poppa will call the Peacekeepers, and that would be...awkward. This way is better, believe me. Besides, if you don't, the deal's off. Come on."

I sigh, realizing that Haymitch is right. Reluctantly, I fall in beside him as we walk back to Town.

* * *

"Liam, your boy needs to cool off.  _You_ need to cool off. Trust me, this is the best course of action."

Haymitch is sitting with my parents, explaining how I came to him for help, and how he offered to take me in as cook - "temporarily" - without mentioning the other part of our bargain.

Poppa glances at Haymitch, then at me, before responding. "I didn't want any of this to happen...and Peeta, you know you don't have to do this, right? Son, you have almost two years before...you know."

"And then what?" I ask bitterly. "I move to the Seam? Go to work in the mines? I'll be dead by forty!"

"Or you could marry a Merchant girl," my mother chimes in. "I'm sure Delly Cartwright would be -"

"No!" I snap. "Marry  _Delly_ , mother? My best friend? We...Delly wants to marry for love! She's a romantic, mother! And marrying me just to keep me out of the mines...we would both be miserable!"

"Liam," Haymitch says quietly. "Abigail. Peeta came to me, asking for help. Let me give it to him."

"This whole mess is horrible," my father mutters. "Haymitch, I...the bakery hasn't been doing well for a while now...over a year, in fact. The Capitol's tax increases, the lien we were hit with, the business that we've been losing steadily over this summer, and, believe it or not, having a Victor has all hurt us financially."

"I don't get it," Haymitch says with a frown. "Katniss winning the Games has hurt you?"

"Not her personally," Poppa says. "But Parcel Day, with the deliveries of flour, sugar, baking powder...why spend hard-earned coin in the bakery when families can bake their own Parcel Day bread at home? And this will go on for a  _year_." Poppa pauses, looking at the floor. "We might have been able to manage if it wasn't for the tax lien. That wiped out my only cushion." Poppa looks up at Haymitch. "There's no way for you to help us, is there?" He asks hopefully.

"Liam, you know the answer to that already," Haymitch replies gently. "If you suddenly had the money to keep the bakery afloat and thriving, the Ministry of Finance would know  _exactly_  where the money came from. I'm a Victor, Liam. That means that the Capitol keeps very close tabs on me. They don't mind me spending money locally...as long as I don't spend  _too_  much at any one business. And they certainly wouldn't allow me to become partners with you, or start up my own business." Haymitch laughs bitterly. "That would be unseemly for a Victor. We're birds in a gilded cage, Liam. We're not expected to contribute anything to Panem except our presence. That's been made very clear to me on several occasions."

"But yet, you  _can_  hire a Seam woman to clean your house, and a Merchant boy to cook for you?" Mother asks archly.

"Peeta won't see a single coin from me," Haymitch explains calmly, ignoring my mother's sarcastic tone. "He'll be working for room and board only. And his presence in my house will help take the starch out of some rumors floating around the district regarding my relationship with Hazelle Hawthorne."

"I feel awful about this," Poppa mutters. For a moment I almost feel sorry for him.

"Look, it's best for the boy," Haymitch says reasonably. "He's been through some tough times, just like you. Everyone needs to cool off a bit...and if I don't take him in, he'll end up in the Community Home... and no one wants that to happen." Haymitch pauses and looks at my father sympathetically. "Liam, tomorrow you and I need to see Cray. Explain the situation and get him to sign off on this and make it official. I doubt he'll have any objections, especially since it's just a temporary arrangement." Haymitch turns to me.

"Peeta, you understand that this is not permanent?" Haymitch says. "That you can't work for me once you complete your compulsory education? And that you will be expected, at that time, to find meaningful employment?"

"Yes, sir," I reply.

"Okay," Haymitch says, standing up. "Peeta, go upstairs and grab some clothes. You do have school tomorrow, you know."

"No," mother says flatly. "He's not to take anything out of this house! Not one stitch!"

Haymitch looks at my mother, disbelief on his face. "Well," he says, "It's nice to know that some things never do change. Come along, Peeta. Liam, tomorrow, Cray's office, at ten?"

My father can only nod dumbly as Haymitch and I walk out of the house. "Tomorrow," Haymitch says, "I guess I'm going clothes shopping for you as well. Make sure you give me your sizes. You'll have to sleep on the couch tonight. I don't have a room made up for you. I wasn't really expecting guests."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. It's really happening. And suddenly I feel a rush of fear, deep down in my belly.

**PART III**

I awaken early and rise quietly. Although I sleep in the basement, I always try to avoid making unnecessary noise. I don't want to disturb Haymitch.

I pull on my new running shoes, courtesy of Haymitch Abernathy, as well a new pair of athletic shorts, and keep on the t-shirt that I slept in. I exit the basement using the outer door and I slip outside into the pre-dawn darkness. At this hour of the morning the air is cool. Technically I'm breaking curfew by being out so early but I have yet to encounter a Peacekeeper at this hour.

I stretch for a few minutes, and then begin my jog. I start out slowly, past the other homes in the Village (the two occupied mansions almost always have their lights on, even this early in the morning...the joys of unlimited electricity), and then hit Victor's Village Road and head towards town and the Merchant district. I run past the businesses in the Merchant district, through the Square, past the Justice Building, the Train Station, and then I cut past to the river. I follow the river past the Mine entrances and the slag heaps, past the Mine offices, and past the Hob, where the river disappears under the border fence. I follow the fence around the Seam, through the Meadow, and across Victor's Village Road. I jog past the Village, and then head back towards town and the Merchant district.

I follow this path twice...the first lap at an energy-conserving jog, the second at a pace that I gradually increase until I'm practically sprinting for the last half-kilometer or so.

Once I complete two laps (it takes about an hour), I slip back in the basement, take a quick shower upstairs (showers are something that I still have to get used to), and then get dressed and make Haymitch his breakfast.

Haymitch, as usual, is passed out on the kitchen table, bottle in one hand, and a knife in the other. At first, I always made it a point to be as quiet as possible so as not to disturb him, but then I quickly realized that it would take a lot more than the noise I made while cooking to disturb him.

"Haymitch," I call out. Haymitch mumbles incoherently and shifts around in his chair. "Haymitch!" He lifts his head up as I slide a cup of strong, hot tea toward him. He sniffs appreciatively at the cup and then ponderously lifts his head off the table.

"Here's breakfast," I say, sliding his plate onto the table where his head had just been. I place a fork and napkin next to his right hand and place a glass of orange juice next to the teacup.

Haymitch peers down at his plate. "What the fuck is  _this_?" He picks up his fork and tentatively pokes at his food.

"Something different," I say. "Sausage gravy on toasted bread."

Haymitch makes a face. "You sure you didn't just puke on my plate and serve it up to me?"

I put a bottle of hot sauce on the table. "Try it with this," I say. "From District Four. Supposed to spice it up a bit."

Haymitch picks up the bottle, shakes a few drops of the reddish-orange sauce on the gravy, and then takes a small, tentative bite. He chews slowly and thoughtfully, and then takes a larger bite, chewing with pleasure.

"Not bad," he admits grudgingly. "I think I'll call this 'Peeta's Puke on a Platter.'" He laughs at his own joke and takes a sip of tea.

I grab my own plate and teacup and join him. We eat in silence for a few minutes before either of us speaks.

"How's your run this morning?" Haymitch asks.

"Fine," I say. "I managed a sprint for the last half-kilometer."

"Good," Haymitch says. "Two laps around the district?"

"Yeah," I reply. "Haymitch? I've been here a month and all you have me doing is running and working with those weights you bought from the Capitol. When am I gonna learn to fight?"

Haymitch chuckles. "You already know how to fight, kid. Speaking of that, have you talked to your wrestling coach yet?"

"Today," I reply. "Wrestling sign-ups are today. We'll start practice next week."

"And what are you gonna remember to ask him?" Haymitch prompts.

"For extra practice and gym time," I respond, as if reciting a script. "I'm hoping to be considered for an athletic scholarship to Panem University in the Capitol."

"Don't forget," Haymitch admonishes me.

"I won't," I promise. "And yeah, I know how to wrestle. What I need to do is learn how to fight."

Haymitch sighs and sits back. "You done with breakfast, kid?" I nod. Haymitch lurches to his feet and heads toward the back door, beckoning me to follow. Curious, I get to my feet and follow him outside.

"What is it?" I ask when we're standing near the outside entrance to the basement.

"Just this," Haymitch says right before his hands lash out, slapping me hard across both cheeks, before grabbing me and throwing a choke hold around my neck.

"How many times," Haymitch grunts as I struggle against the hold, "do I have to remind you to  _not_  talk about this shit in the house? Huh?"

"Sorry," I gasp. Haymitch suddenly lets me go, then spins me around to face him.

"Look at me," he commands. "Did you see that coming?"

"No," I admit.

"When you do,  _then_  you learn how to fight." Haymitch turns his head and spits on the grass. "Oh, hell, kid, I  _know_  that you know how to fight. And I know what you mean. You want to learn how to throw a spear, or swing a sword, or shoot a bow like Katniss Everdeen, right?" I stare defiantly back at him. "That's not your game, boy. You said so yourself, that first night you came asking for my help. Or have you forgotten?"

"Then  _what_  is my game?" I ask.

"Attrition," Haymitch replies. "You let the Careers do all the work. You stay out of their way. You stay  _alive_." Haymitch pauses and puts his hand on my shoulder. "And you fight only when you have to. Don't worry, kid. I'll make sure you know what you need to know. You're gonna be a wild card...a surprise. Look, I know the Gamemakers will probably force you and other Tributes together. You just have to work that to  _your_  advantage."

"I guess so," I mutter.

"Listen, kid," Haymitch says. "We have three months before the Victory Tour. Nine months before the next Reaping Day. We have plenty of time to teach you what you need to know." He turns to go back into the house, beckoning me to follow.

"Come on," he says, putting his hand on my shoulder. "Let's go back inside. You need to clean up breakfast and get going to school."

* * *

Most every day, I manage to navigate through school and avoid running into either Prim Everdeen or my two closest friends, Delly and Madge. Of course, my blowup with my parents and subsequent move to Haymitch's place was well known throughout the district...it's impossible to keep something like that a secret, after all...and, at first, Prim was a frequent guest at Haymitch's, until I managed to beg off visiting with her, using the excuse that I was still torn up about the events that prompted my move out here.

That last part wasn't entire a lie. I was very upset by it...I still am. That's part of the reason why I asked Haymitch if I could sleep in his basement...I simply didn't want to be around people, including him, all that much.

But today, Delly and Madge corner me at lunch, demanding to know the  _whole_ story, so I comply (minus the parts about training for the Games, of course). I even toss in my mother's marriage suggestion, causing them both to laugh. I manage to leave them both with little more than a vague promise to get together.

Prim was another story entirely. She was my next-door  _neighbor_  now! But she's also Katniss's sister. Haymitch and I had agreed that the fewer people that knew of the true nature of our "agreement," the better...and that, of course, meant that, as far as the Everdeens were concerned, that I was nothing more than Haymitch Abernathy's live-in cook. There were two big problems with keeping the real reason a secret from Prim and Katniss.

I don't think that Prim buys our "official" story, and Haymitch decided that Katniss needed to teach me how to make snares and traps. That means that we had to come up with a reason, other than the Games,  _why_  I would even need to learn trapping skills.

Prim's curiosity gets the better of her. That's why today, when I stay after school to talk to my wrestling coach about extra gym time, Prim waits for me instead of meeting with Katniss and walking home with her.

* * *

My walk home..."home" now being Haymitch's mansion in the Village...takes place a little later than usual today, due to my hanging back to talk to the wrestling coach. I was actually a little surprised that he agreed to give me extra gym time to work on more advanced techniques. So, of course I was surprised when Prim's soft voice called out my name from behind the groundskeeper's outbuilding.

"Peeta."

I stop and swivel my head in the direction of the voice and see Prim standing in the shadow of the building, her textbooks clutched to her chest.

"Prim? What are you doing here?" I ask, stopping to wait for her as she walks up to join me. "Don't you usually...I mean, doesn't Katniss normally -"

"She does," Prim says, falling in beside me as we both begin the walk to the Village. "But today, I asked her not to come."

"Why?" I ask, perplexed.

"So I could have a chance to talk to you," she replies softly. "Peeta, please tell me what's going on."

"You mean, why I'm at Haymitch's?" I ask. "I already told you why. My parents told me that -"

"I know what you  _told_  me," she says irritably. "But why Haymitch? You didn't even know him!"

"He was the only one I could turn to," I reply truthfully. "And my father told me that he and Haymitch had been friends before Haymitch was Reaped."

"Katniss told me that Haymitch asked her if she could show you how to set some simple snares and traps," Prim says, almost accusingly. "Why do you even need to know stuff like that?"

"Because I'm too old to learn how to use a bow," I reply. "Prim, two years from now I'll be in the mines. I have to have some kind of skills like that if I'm -"

"Peeta," Prim interrupts me almost gently, "almost no one else goes into the woods to hunt, fish, or trap except Katniss...and now, Rory Hawthorne. Yet thousands of people live in the Seam and manage to make do without ever going past the boundary fence."

"Prim, I'm truthfully scared to death," I say. "I was born and raised as a Merchant. That's all I know! And now I'm expected to go into the mines in less than two years...and I'm not supposed to try for a little advantage? You know, I'm late today because I was talking to Coach about extra gym time...I am gonna try for one of those Panem University athletic scholarships. So, yeah...I'm trying everything I can to help myself."

"And that's the only reason?" Prim asks skeptically.

"Yes." The lie comes out of my mouth smoothly. Well, it wasn't  _all_  a lie. I would be eligible for a Capitol scholarship this school year. Of course, I would still be eligible for Reapings for the next two years as well...so even if I won a scholarship I could still end up in the Games. I just wouldn't have to volunteer. There's little solace in that thought.

"Hmmm," Prim says thoughtfully. "You know, Katniss isn't happy."

"About Haymitch asking her to help me?" I ask.

"Yes...and that she has to give up a Saturday morning to do it - she usually spends most of Saturday and Sunday with Rory - and with you being out here in general." Prim replies.

"I don't see why my living with and working for Haymitch should bother her so much," I mutter. "I never see her. Also, I make sure that I'm long gone in the morning before Hazelle Hawthorne shows up, and I'm never back while Hazelle is there. Haymitch gives Hazelle the weekends off, so she won't run into me then, either. I've never done anything to Katniss!"

"Except yell at her," Prim reminds me.

"She deserved it," I snap.

"Yes, she did," Prim admits softly. "But that doesn't mean that she liked getting yelled at. Especially by you. Peeta, you remind her of Gale. Every time she sees you she thinks of Gale. Gale was her very best friend and she basically had to watch him die. And then she comes home and hears all those rumors about you -"

"That were all lies," I add savagely.

"She's still having a hard time, Peeta," Prim says. We stop walking. I notice that we're standing in front of Katniss's mansion. "I have to go," she says. "What time are you going out tomorrow?"

"Dawn," I reply. "Haymitch told me to be waiting in front of his house at dawn."

"Good luck," Prim says softly. "And Peeta? I know you like Katniss...a lot. Just...let her learn to like you in her own time. Okay?"

I just nod as I watch her disappear into the house. I just shake my head and sigh as I walk next door to home.

My new home.

**PART IV**

I'm standing outside the next morning as dawn begins to break over District Twelve. My hair is still damp from my morning shower. I wasn't going to go for a run this morning, but Haymitch, awake and drinking already, had different plans.  _I can always shower again after we get back,_  I say to myself.

I hear the soft thump as the Katniss's front door closes softly behind her, and I hear her light footsteps as she strides down the walkway to the street. In spite of myself, my breath catches in my throat when I see her. Her hair is done up in its usual braid. I can see she's wearing an old, brown, well-worn leather jacket, sturdy pants, and well-worn leather boots. The jacket and boots had the simplistic cut of clothes commonly found here in Twelve and I realize that she must have owned these while she still lived in the Seam, before she volunteered for Prim. I also realize with a shock that this will be the first time that I've ever spent any significant time alone with her...ever.

Katniss walks up to me, her face an impassive mask. "I, uhh," I stammer, "I just want to...to thank -"

"Forget it," she says curtly. "Follow me. And don't talk."

She turns and strides towards the Village entrance without waiting to see if I'm following her. I trot to catch up, and then fall in beside her.

We walk to the Meadow in silence and soon we reach the hole in the fence where she routinely slips through to the forest beyond. At the hole we stop.

"First lesson," she says. "Listen."

I do as she says. I hear nothing. "I don't hear anything."

"Exactly," she says. "If the fence is on, you'd hear a low hum from the wires. Come on." Katniss gracefully wiggles through the hole in the fence, and then waits impatiently for me to follow. I clamber to my feet after I get through the hole.

"This way," Katniss says, then stops suddenly and turns to face me. "Why is your hair damp?"

"I, uhh...took a shower this morning," I reply sheepishly.

" _Before_  going out to set snares?" Katniss asks incredulously.

"I went running this morning," I explain. "Two laps around Town and the Seam."

Katniss frowns. "Why?"

I feel my neck redden and my palms suddenly become slick with sweat. "Uhhh...I'm trying for a scholarship...an athletic -"

"Oh, yeah," Katniss says. "Prim said something about that last night." She turns away, and then looks over her shoulder. "This way." She heads off toward the forest, with me following close behind. We walk in silence for maybe twenty minutes when she suddenly stops in her tracks, spins around, and looks at me, an expression of annoyance on her face.

"Can't you be any quieter?" She demands.

"I thought I was," I reply, feeling my neck redden again.

"Well, you aren't," she replies in disgust. "You're tromping so hard you've probably scared off all the game for at least a kilometer."

"Sorry," I mumble. "I was just trying to walk like you are."

Katniss regards me for a moment, her eyes narrowed, and then says, "Well, I guess it's okay. We aren't hunting or anything. Just try to be quieter."

Once again, we begin moving deeper into the forest. After another ten minutes of silence, Katniss stops again.

I watch as she squats down. "Look," she says quietly. I ease down next to her. As I do, I catch a whiff of leather combined with wood smoke, and another scent...a clean, healthy odor that I realize is Katniss herself. I swallow heavily, and concentrate on what she's showing me.

"See this?" Katniss is pointing to a very faint trail leading off on a gentle downhill slope.

"This trail?" I ask.

"Yeah. That's a game trail. Not big enough for deer. Rabbit, most likely. Maybe ground squirrel too. This is what you want to look for out here...trails like this. Come on." Katniss straightens up and starts following the trail. She stops again after a few moments.

"Look," she says, pointing at the ground. A small pile of brown pellets lies just off the trail. Katniss squats down and scoops up a handful. "Here," she says, holding out her hand.

I hold my hand out and she drops about half the pellets into my palm. I can see (and feel) that they're moist.

"Rabbit droppings," Katniss explains. A faint flicker of a smile flits across her face when she sees the look of disgust on mine. "Don't drop them! You'll need them. Watch."

Katniss takes one pellet between thumb and forefinger and squeezes gently. "Fresh droppings will be moist on the inside...like these are," she explains. "Older droppings will be dry and crumbly. You want to find fresh, like these." She sniffs at the crushed pellet. "Just a few hours old. Good." She looks at me. "Now do as I do." She puts her hands together; crushing the remaining pellets between her palms, then rubs her hands together. I don't question her. I simply do ask she asks.

"When we start working on snares, you don't want to leave your scent behind," she explains. She looks around. "Ahh!" Katniss walks over to a sturdy sapling, just off the trail.

"Watch," she says, pulling a roll of thin filament out of her jacket pocket. "I'm gonna show you a simple twitch snare. Easy to make and effective." Katniss produces a hunting knife from under her jacket, strips a couple of branches off a nearby tree, and begins to cut.

"I'm making the trigger," she explains. "See the notches that I've cut?" I examine the two small branches that she's holding and nod. Using the filament, she cuts a length off and fastens one end into a loop. She runs an arms length of filament out and ties it securely to one notched stick, and then takes the remaining meter or so of filament and ties it securely to the sapling. Carefully, she bends the sapling down toward the ground, the slips the notched stick tied to the filament under the notch of the other stick that she had shoved firmly into the ground, then very carefully allows the sapling to straighten up a bit, drawing the filament tight. She then very carefully arranges the loop directly over the game trail, and then finally steps back.

Katniss wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. "A rabbit comes down the trail, doesn't even notice the loop and walks right into it. By the time it realizes that there's a loop around its neck, it's pulled this wire tight here...see? And it pulls the trigger right out, the sapling snaps back up, and the rabbit's caught and is off the ground high enough so nothing else can get to it."

"Like what?" I ask.

Katniss shrugs. "Wild dog, maybe, or a lynx. Come on. Your turn."

Under Katniss's watchful eye I set five snares of my own. It takes me considerably longer than it did her. Katniss, to her credit, showed a lot of patience as I work. It didn't make things any easier that my snares, at first, seemed to have a propensity for triggering on their own, until Katniss noticed that I wasn't notching the triggers deep enough.

It was close to noon by the time we finish. "That's enough," Katniss says. "Let's head back."

Katniss straightens up from where she was squatting down, inspecting my last snare. As she stands I see a small, shiny object slip out of her pocket and hit the ground. I bend down to retrieve it.

It's a small folding knife, with the Seal of Panem embossed on the side.

I realize instantly what it is. It's the small folding knife that Gale carried with him throughout the Games.

_Katniss's new token_ , I say to myself. I step forward, extending my hand.

"Here," I say awkwardly. "You...you dropped this."

Katniss hesitates for just a second before reaching out and taking the knife from my hand. She murmurs something as she slips the knife back into her pocket.

"Was that -" I begin to say.

"Yeah." Katniss says. "Thanks."

I nod and turn away. "Hey," Katniss says softly.

I turn back to face her. "What?"

"Haymitch said that you wanted to learn snares because you're probably going to the mines in a couple of years and you want to be able to get meat," she says.

"Yeah," I reply. "That's right. Why?" I'm amazed at how easily the lie flows off my tongue.

"Nothing," Katniss says. "Come on."

We walk back to the boundary fence in silence.

* * *

Back in the Village, Katniss finally speaks just as we reach her house.

"I'll go out tomorrow and check your snare lines," she says.

"Okay," I reply. "Do you...do you want me to go too?"

"No," she quickly says. "I mean...I'll have Rory with me tomorrow."

"Oh," I say. "Okay." I think of something else. "Don't you have other snare lines to check today?"

Katniss shakes her head. "Didn't set any yesterday. Knew I was coming out today with you."

"Oh," I say, then, "Do I...I mean, are we going to go out...again?"

"No," Katniss says. "You know enough. It's not hard. You just need to practice on your own. Get yourself a good knife and some fishing line, like we used today."

I try to hide my disappointment. Katniss wasn't exactly friendly, but she was civil. "Okay. Well, thanks."

"Sure," Katniss says, glancing at her front door.

"I won't keep you," I say. "Bye."

Katniss nods and turns toward her door. "Katniss -"

She stops and swivels her head around, a questioning look on her face.

"Why did you help me today?" I ask.

She shrugs, turning all the way around to face me. "I owed him," she says simply, inclining her head toward Haymitch's house.

"Oh," I say. "Do you still?"

She shakes her head. "No."

I watch as she walks into her house and shuts the door firmly behind her.

_She has no idea, the effect that she has._

**PART V**

For the next few months, my routine didn't vary much. Up in the early hours every day to run, wrestling practice after school, followed by another workout in the school gym. Back to the Village to fix Haymitch his dinner, homework, another workout with Haymitch's weights in the basement, bed.

Some nights were broken up by the sound of Katniss, screaming in the throes of a nightmare next door. I try to avoid contact with anyone that I don't have to. Sometimes I even succeed. Sometimes, the people that I'm trying to avoid are even more stubborn than I am.

Prim was one of these. So were Delly and Madge.

In truth, I was more concerned that they would figure out my plan more than anything else.

Katniss basically ignored me, as did Hazelle Hawthorne...at least on the infrequent occasions when our paths crossed. I knew that Haymitch was paying her well...between what he paid, and the laundry that she took in on weekends, she was making almost three times what she had been making before.

Katniss...well, Katniss would nod a greeting if she happened to see me, and, if I were really lucky, she would actually say hello. But, for the most part, she did her best to avoid me.

Twice a week (always on weekdays) I would slip through the fence and practice my snare setting skills. More often than not I was rewarded with a fat rabbit or two. I remember proudly displaying my first rabbit to Haymitch, who just smiled, snickered, and said:

"Do you know  _anything_  about cleaning rabbits, boy?"

Another lesson in my continuing education. Fortunately, Haymitch, as he put it, had "gutted a rabbit or two" in his life, and quickly showed me how. Admittedly, my first few attempts after that were pretty messy, and I think I probably ruined more meat than I was able to save. But gradually, my skills improved. Soon, I was cleaning rabbits, ground squirrel, and tree squirrel...maybe not expertly, but competently.

The weather started to grow steadily colder. We had our first snowfall in the middle of November. I continued to run every morning until the snow got too deep. Haymitch made a phone call with the phone that Effie Trinket insisted he have, now that he actually had a Victor to Mentor. A large crate was delivered to the house less than a week later. The workers set it up in the basement while I was at school.

When I arrived home from school that day, Haymitch grabbed me by the arm and hustled me downstairs, to proudly display his latest acquisition to me.

I stare at the machine that Haymitch is proudly showing me. "Okay," I finally say. "What is it?"

"A way for you to run indoors, boy!" Haymitch announces. "It's called a treadmill."

We spend the rest of the evening figuring out how it works. The next morning, I roll out of bed, get dressed...and spend an hour, running nowhere.

I much prefer running outdoors.

A few weeks later, Winter Holiday begins at school. Winter Holiday lasts for three weeks, culminating in the Harvest Festival, the Victory Tour, and the New Year. I notice Haymitch becoming more and more...distant. Agitated, even. It takes me a while to realize why.

Haymitch and Katniss will soon be leaving on the Victory Tour.

Katniss and Haymitch, along with the District Twelve Escort, Effie Trinket, will board a train and, for two weeks, will visit each and every district in Panem, including the Capitol, and a reception in the Presidential Palace hosted by none other than President Snow himself. Their last stop will be right here, in Katniss's home district. There won't be a district-wide party again...not in the dead of winter...but there will be celebrations nonetheless. Everyone was looking forward to it.

Everyone, of course, except Haymitch and Katniss.

Even though Haymitch tried to keep everything as low-key as possible, I still overheard several heated telephone conversations between him and Effie Trinket. It was obvious to me that the Victory Tour was putting a lot of stress on him...and, from the one sided conversations that I kept overhearing, Katniss as well.

On the first day of Winter Holiday, I'm sitting upstairs (on the main level, that is...upstairs from the basement), idly thumbing through a book that I found in Haymitch's library. It was a Saturday...Hazelle had the day off. Haymitch had gone into town...a rarity for him, as I almost always ran his errands for him on the weekends...when I heard the front door open, then slam shut behind him.

"Peeta?" Haymitch calls out.

"Coming," I reply, putting the book down and going into the kitchen. Haymitch was sitting at the kitchen table, along with another man. The other man was older...older than Haymitch, certainly, shabbily dressed, with greasy, unkempt hair and a scraggly beard. He had the Seam look about him...olive skin, dark hair - now with a healthy amount of gray showing - and gray eyes.

"Boy," Haymitch says, rising to his feet as the stranger did the same, "I'd like you to introduce you to the Goat Man. Goat Man, this is Peeta Mellark, my...ward."

"Boy," the man says, sticking out a dirty hand. I shake hands with him reluctantly, wishing afterwards that I could wash right away.

"Goat Man, here, is gonna help you with your next level of your...education," Haymitch announces. I look at this decrepit character with open skepticism.

"I see," I manage to say. Haymitch looks at Goat Man and they both break out in laughter.

"Come with us," Haymitch says as he and Goat Man head down the inner stairs into the basement. Reluctantly, I follow. When I arrive they are both standing in the center of the room.

"Okay," I say. "When are you gonna let me in on the joke?"

Haymitch grins at me, and then turns to Goat Man and nods. Goat Man nods in return, slides his right hand up his left coat sleeve, then suddenly flicks his right hand out, almost faster than my eye can track.

I hear a hiss fly past my left ear, followed by a quivering  _thunk!_  I glance toward the source of the sound and see a knife, buried halfway to the hilt, quivering in the doorjamb, not five centimeters from my head.

"There's the joke, kid," Haymitch says with a grin. "Why ain't you laughing?"

I stare at the two in amazement. Haymitch turns to Goat Man. "Work with him down here today and tomorrow." Goat Man nods.

Haymitch walks up to me and hands me a bundle. "Work with these," he says. I open it, revealing half-dozen knives of all different lengths. "This is your homework while I'm away with Miss Sunshine for the next couple of weeks. Listen to him. Got it?"

All I can do is nod.

"Okay," Haymitch says. "Goaty, I'll leave him in your very capable hands. Boy, don't slack up on the treadmill or the weights while I'm gone. You need to be in tip-top shape for the...scholarship competition in the spring."

Haymitch turns and leaves. Goat Man puts his hand out. "Let's see 'em," he says, indicating the knives. I wordlessly hand him the bundle. Goat Man examines each blade critically, muttering to himself.

"Okay," he says finally. "These will do. We're training down here today and tomorrow. Come Monday...you know the slag heap by the east mine entrance?" I nod. "Come look for me there. Not before ten o'clock. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," I say.

"Good," Goat Man says with a grin, revealing gaps in his teeth. "Okay, kid, let's get started..."

* * *

I'm standing outside the next day, staring at the line of cars parked in front of Katniss's house.

"How many cars do they need for one girl?" I ask Haymitch.

"One girl, plus me,  _and_  Effie,  _and_ Katniss's stylist, Cinna,  _and_ her Prep Team," Haymitch replies wryly. "Listen, kid...we'll be gone for a couple of weeks. Keep an eye on the ladies next door, huh?"

"Sure," I say without enthusiasm.

"Hey," Haymitch says, "You've been in your self-imposed exile long enough. Socialize a little. The Everdeen women will need that. Trust me."

I smile in spite of myself. "Okay, okay." At that moment, Katniss emerges from her house. She looks...stunning. Polished. Beautiful. I can see her speaking to a pair of remote cameras, with Effie Trinket and her stylist and prep team standing off to one side.

As Katniss finishes speaking, I see Effie turn and signal Haymitch.

"Okay, kid, that's my cue," he says, then suddenly pulls me into a brief hug. "Try not to burn the place down while I'm gone, huh?" I suddenly realize that I'm actually going to miss him.

"Stay out of trouble," I manage to say. Even now, Haymitch is walking towards one of the waiting cars.

"I will," he calls out over his shoulder, "And you keep up on your scholarship training! And kid," he adds as he climbs into the car, "You know, it wouldn't kill you to go see your Poppa while I'm away."

The door slams and soon all I can see is a line of cars disappearing under the Village entrance, headed for the train station.

I walk slowly back into the house. It suddenly seems too large. I wander through the halls aimlessly, then into the kitchen. I pick up a loaf of freshly baked bread and walk out of the house and head to the house next door.

Prim answers the door on the first knock. She smiles widely when she sees that it's me. Mrs. Everdeen comes out and greets me as well, thanking me warmly for the bread and inviting me to dinner. I gladly accept.

Prim insists that I sit in the living room and quickly brings me a steaming cup of tea, then joins me, chattering away happily.

I lean back in the chair, the fire burning merrily in the fireplace, and let the warmth of the tea flow through me.

_I think that I'll go see Poppa tomorrow, after I finish with the Goat Man._


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11**

**PART I**

_ On Katniss Everdeen's Victory Tour _

_As far as Katniss Everdeen is concerned, the entire Victory Tour was one long, extended, waking nightmare._

_In District Eleven, the first stop, she felt that she just_ _ had _ _to say something other than the wooden, canned speech that Effie Trinket had prepared for her, especially when she saw the families of Thresh and Rue, sitting on raised platforms, underneath huge pictures of the two dead Tributes. And so, she delivered an unscripted, heartfelt speech, choking up several times in the process, and, in response, the impoverished field hands that were present kissed the fingers of their left hand and raised these same hands to her in salute._

_They had no idea of the significance of the gesture, other than it meant respect. And every man, woman, and child present that warm December day in District Eleven felt nothing but respect for this slight, dark haired girl standing before them._

_Her Escort, Effie Trinket, and her Mentor, Haymitch Abernathy led Katniss, overcome with emotion, off the stage. The second to the last sound Katniss heard before she disappeared into the District Eleven Justice Building was the sound of someone whistling Rue's four-note song...the one that she and Katniss had agreed on that would mean that they were safe. Katniss had distractedly left her bouquet of flowers on the stage...and the sound of the whistle seemed to stir her memory, for she spun around and stepped back out onto the stage, where she heard the last sound that she would hear on her District Eleven stop...twin gunshots, coming so fast it almost sounded like one._

_That wasn't the worst of it. The worst of it was seeing a grizzled, wizened old man, kneeling on the stage, head down, as a pair of helmeted Peacekeepers each put a bullet in the man's brain._

_Katniss couldn't get out of District Eleven fast enough._

_After that, Effie and Haymitch had no problem convincing Katniss to stick to the script. But the nightmare continued._

_The little girl in District Four that reminded Katniss so much of Prim who informed Katniss, even in the act of handing Katniss her bouquet, that she was going to volunteer for the Games as soon as she was old enough, "Just like you!" Katniss's nightmares that night included images of a dismembered District Four girl._

_The parents of the District Eight girl that Gale put out of her misery, begging for a chance to meet Katniss, to thank Gale (through her) for showing their daughter compassion. The sisters of the District Five girl, Finch, each with flaming red hair, saying to Katniss how much she owed their dead sister for sacrificing herself, then in the same breath thanking Katniss for killing her quickly. And the stony silence and glares of pure hatred that greeted Katniss in Districts One and Two._

_Katniss hardly ate and slept little. Cinna, her stylist, was constantly working on her clothes, taking them in, then in some more. Her prep team was fighting a losing battle with the dark circles under her eyes. And not a day passed that she didn't fight with Haymitch, Effie...or both._

_Cressida, assigned along with her crew to document Katniss's Victory Tour, was the young Victor's only confidant. Katniss found in Cressida someone that was easy to talk to, and sympathetic to her difficulties. Cressida found in Katniss a young woman of exceptional intelligence and a dry sense of humor...when it could be coaxed out of her. In spite of their hugely different backgrounds, the Capitol correspondent and the Victor from the poorest section of the poorest district in Panem became close friends in a very short time._

_And now, as the train pulls in to the Capitol, Katniss allows herself to relax. No more facing crowds of people that watched their own die in the Games. No more sullen, surly people._ One more stop, _Katniss says to herself._ One more stop then I can go home.  _Katniss allows herself to breathe a small sigh of relief, certain that this nightmarish trip was near its end._

_At that time, Katniss had no way of knowing that her true nightmare was yet to begin._

* * *

_Katniss fidgets uncomfortably, clenching her hands into tight balls to keep from impulsively biting her nails. She glances nervously at the ornately decorated mahogany double doors, and at the brace of tall, muscular, black-clad men blocking the doorway, then back at the middle-aged woman seated at a desk, also made of mahogany, who had been steadily tapping away at a computer keyboard for the past twenty minutes._

_Katniss tries without success to quell the growing knot of fear in her belly. She had been afraid many times during the Games, but the fear that she feels now was different. For, behind those ornate doors, was the single most powerful...and therefore the most dangerous...man in Panem._

_Behind those doors was President Coriolanus Snow._

_Katniss had been sound asleep when her Victory Tour Train pulled into the Capitol early this morning. After a quick meeting, her support crew of Haymitch, Effie, Cinna, and Cressida all decided to let her sleep. After all, she was not scheduled to make her appearance until the Capitol Reception tonight at the Presidential Palace._

_"Let the poor girl sleep," Haymitch had said firmly. "Snow knows she needs it."_

_The rest of the group concurred, and sat down to enjoy a leisurely breakfast...that is, until the courier from the President's staff arrived shortly after eight._

_Effie was the one that received the message. "Katniss Everdeen is to present herself at the Presidential Palace precisely at noon today for a private audience with President Snow. Present this letter at the West Entrance. Promptness is required."_

_Effie was beside herself with excitement. "An audience with_ President Snow! _What a singular honor!" She turns to a nearby attendant. "Please go and wake Miss Everdeen immediately! We've no time to waste! This is a big, big, big, big, BIG day!"_

_Cinna and Cressida merely looked confused by the unexpected directive, and murmured softly to each other, speculating as to what prompted the unusual invitation._

_In contrast, Haymitch Abernathy looked like he was about to throw up._

_A very grumpy Katniss Everdeen joined the group for breakfast five minutes later. She woke up completely and instantly as soon as Effie gave her the news. Cinna and Effie were discussing what Katniss should wear; Cressida went to alert Messalla and the rest of her team. Haymitch lost his appetite and poured three fingers of fine cognac into a coffee cup, topping it off with a somewhat smaller serving of coffee._

_Cinna finally decided on dressing Katniss in a conservative forest-green skirt and matching blazer, her gold Mockingjay pin adorning her left lapel. Her hair was done in a single simple braid. Cinna was pleased with the result. She looked like a successful, intelligent university student. Effie asked Haymitch what he thought of Katniss's sophisticated new look._

_Haymitch's response was to excuse himself, go into the nearest lavatory, and vomit violently._

_Effie insisted on leaving promptly at eleven. At ten-thirty she called Hunger Games Central and requested that a car be sent to the train station for them. What they got was a car from the Presidential Fleet._

_The black-clad driver and the taciturn man riding with him both insisted on searching both Effie and Katniss before allowing them into the limousine. They were searched again before more black-clad guards would allow them to drive through the West Gate, and yet again before being ushered into the Palace._

_Katniss was separated from Effie as soon as both were in the Palace. Katniss was ushered into what she overheard the black-clad guard call the South Wing and into this outer office where, after being searched yet again, she was directed to sit...and wait._

_It was almost one in the afternoon when the woman at the desk pressed her hand to her ear, nodded slightly, and then looked up at Katniss._

_"Miss Everdeen?" Katniss jumped slightly at the sound of her name as she looked up at the woman. The woman inclined her head toward the ornate double doors. "The President will see you now."_

_Katniss merely nodded, not trusting herself to speak as she stands on trembling legs and forces herself to walk slowly toward the doors. The guards each pull a door open as she approaches, and then shuts them firmly behind her as Katniss steps through. The sound of the doors closing causes Katniss to freeze in her tracks. Only a well-modulated voice emanating from behind an enormous desk spurs her to move once again._

_"Miss Everdeen," President Coriolanus Snow says cordially, slowly rising from his chair. He indicates a single, high-backed chair placed in front of his desk. "Do come in, my dear, and have a seat."_

* * *

_Slowly, Katniss walks into the richly appointed room toward the proffered chair. "Thank you, sir," she quietly says, waiting for the President to sit before lowering herself into the chair. Katniss is suddenly struck by an almost overpowering, cloying odor...the mingled scents of roses and blood, and has to fight a sudden gag reflex._

_"You were quite prompt today," President Snow observes. "And you present yourself well," he adds, fixing his gaze momentarily on her Mockingjay pin._

_Katniss shifts uncomfortably in her chair. "Thank you, sir," she again says._ Now I know what a squirrel feels like when confronted by a snake, _she says to herself._

_"I, on the other hand, was somewhat less than prompt," Snow continues. "Sometimes, however, matters of state must take precedence. No matter." Snow steeples his fingers, placing his fingertips against his full, almost puffy, lips._

_"Yes, sir," is all Katniss could think to say in response._

_"Are you enjoying your Victory Tour, Miss Everdeen?" Snow asks, resting his gaze on her face._

_Katniss hesitates for a moment before replying. "It's been...very interesting, visiting the different districts."_

_Snow reaches forward and picks up a PADD from the corner of his desk. "In District Eleven, immediately following your address to the assembly, my Peacekeepers were forced to publicly and punitively execute an agitator. In District Eight, the day after your visit there, a demonstration, orchestrated by organized agitators, erupted in the Main Square. You were involved in a verbal altercation with several girls in District Five. Reports indicate that not a day has passed that you haven't quarreled with your Escort, your Mentor, or both." Snow pauses as regards Katniss intently. "Miss Everdeen. As a Victor, you are supposed to represent Panem, and, more importantly, the Capitol. I daresay I am...disappointed...in your performance thus far."_

_Katniss looks down at her hands, clenched tightly together in her lap. "I...I didn't know what was going to happen in District Eleven until it did, sir. And I didn't know about District Eight, or that my speaking with Finch's sisters in District Five was wrong. I -"_

_Snow holds up one hand, palm out. "Nevertheless, these events occurred. And they all lead me to believe that there may be a problem. Specifically, with you."_

_"I didn't mean to cause any problems," Katniss says softly._

_Snow looks at Katniss for a moment before speaking. "Oddly enough, I believe you. Miss Everdeen...the instant that you put an arrow into the District Two female Tribute; you stopped being a simple Seam brat from District Twelve. You became a Victor. And, above all else, a Victor represents Panem. A Victor represents the Capitol. And, perhaps the most important...a Victor represents_ me _. To that end, Victors must be controlled. Do you follow me so far?"_

_Katniss can feel a cold knot of fear growing in her belly as President Snow speaks, and now glances up at him, her mouth suddenly dry. "I...yes, sir. I think so," she manages to croak._

_"Did you know," Snow continues, almost conversationally, "That you are the most popular Victor since Finnick Odair won his Games, ten years ago? Perhaps even more popular?"_

_"No, sir," Katniss replies truthfully. "I didn't know."_

_"You've generated a great deal of...interest...here in the Capitol," Snow says. "Stand up."_

_Katniss stands on shaky legs. Snow nods thoughtfully. "You are quite an attractive young woman, Miss Everdeen. Turn around."_

_"Sir?" Katniss asks in confusion._

_"Spin, like you did in your interview with Caesar Flickerman," Snow explains irritably. "But only once."_

_Slow Katniss pivots around one time. Snow smiles, nodding his head again._

_"Yes," he says, "Very nice indeed. Sit."_

_Katniss sits._

_"Miss Everdeen," Snow continues, "You present me with a conundrum. Do you know what that is?"_

_"No, sir," Katniss replies._

_"A conundrum, Miss Everdeen, is a problem," Snow explains. "More specifically, a difficult problem. And it began the instant you volunteered for your pretty little sister."_

_Katniss feels a chill run up her spine at Snow's mention of Prim. It's all she can do to suppress a shudder at his vaguely menacing tone._

_"I'm well aware of your motivation, Miss Everdeen," Snow continues. "You were not thinking past your desire to save your sister. Quite admirable, I must admit. However, others chose to interpret your selfless act in another way. Others choose to see your actions as overt defiance of the Capitol."_

_"I just wanted to save Prim," Katniss says quietly._

_"And, in doing so," Snow replies, "You demonstrated loyalty, devotion, and love...to someone, or something, other than the Capitol. Oh, I admit, I wasn't too concerned at the time...in truth, I figured you and young Hawthorne to be little more than cannon bait. But now...Miss Everdeen, would it surprise you to learn that I favored one of the so-called 'Career' Tributes to win? A Cato, a Clove, or a Glimmer as Victor would pose no problems for me. I knew exactly where their loyalties lay. They could be easily controlled."_

_Snow sighs deeply. "Alas, here you are, Miss Everdeen. Our newest Victor. Tell me, what would you be willing to do in order to continue to protect your sister?"_

_That knot of fear in Katniss's belly gives a sudden lurch. "I think you already know the answer, President Snow."_

_Snow's eyebrows arch as he says, "And that answer would be?"_

_Katniss stares at her lap. "Anything," she says in a trembling voice. "I would do anything to keep Prim safe."_

_Snow smiles. Once again, Katniss is assailed by the smell of roses and blood. "That, Miss Everdeen, is the answer that I was hoping for." Snow opens a desk drawer, removes a sealed envelope, and reaches across the desk, handing the envelope to Katniss._

_Slowly, reluctantly, Katniss takes the envelope from Snow. "Sir, what is this?"_

_Snow leans back in his chair. "The means by which you can, once and for all, demonstrate your undying loyalty to Panem, the Capitol...and me."_

_Katniss's fingers tremble slightly as she opens the envelope. She pulls out an embossed card from the envelope. It reads:_

CASSIUS HAMMERSMITH

TONIGHT, 11 PM

ANTONINUS ROOM

PRESIDENTIAL PALACE, THIRD FLOOR

_Katniss read the card, her brow furrowed in confusion, then looks up at Snow. "Sir?"_

_"Is there a problem, Miss Everdeen?" Snow asks irritably._

_"I...I don't understand this," Katniss stammers. "Cassius Hammersmith?"_

_Snow waves his hand dismissively. "A long-time...ally of mine," he explains. "And the highest bidder."_

_"Bidder?" Katniss asks. "Bidder for what, President Snow?"_

_"Why, for your pearl of great price, Miss Everdeen." Snow replies with a smile._

_"My -" Katniss begins, her eyes widening as Snow's words sink in._

_"Your virginity, Miss Everdeen," Snow explains. "Cassius has purchased your virginity...or, to be more specific, the right to take your virginity. He's actually quite...excited by the prospect."_

* * *

_"I can't," Katniss whispers miserably._

_"Tonight," Snow says, ignoring her, "You will present yourself in the Antoninus Room...it's a suite of rooms, actually - my security staff will escort you there...after, of course, excusing yourself from your Victory celebration. You_ will _be prompt. Suitable attire will be provided for you, of course. Cassius will be waiting for you there. Do_ not _disappoint him, Miss Everdeen."_

_"I can't," Katniss says again. "I can't do this." Tears roll down her cheeks as she digs her nails into the palms of her hands._

_"You can, and you will, Miss Everdeen," Snow says coldly, "Or you will discover that your noble sacrifice on Reaping Day was all for naught. Do I make myself clear?"_

_Katniss wanted to scream. Instead, she nods her head up and down, once._

_"Good," Snow says. "You fought very hard in the Games, Miss Everdeen. Do be careful that your efforts do not go to waste." Snow presses a button on the edge of his desk. The double doors immediately swing open, revealing the same pair of black-clad bodyguards._

_"I will see you at the reception this evening, Miss Everdeen," Snow says, as he turns his attention to a bundle of papers on his desk. Without looking up, he adds, "Escort Miss Everdeen back to her car."_

_"Yes, sir," one of the guard says. "Miss Everdeen? This way, please."_

_Katniss numbly hauls herself to her feet and follows the bodyguard out of the office. As the double doors slam shut behind her she gulps, a stricken look crossing her face._

_The woman at the desk barely glances up as she says, "Out the door, to your left, second door on the right."_

_Katniss barely makes it into the bathroom before she vomits loudly and violently into the sink._

**PART II**

_Katniss doesn't speak on the ride back to the Victory Tour Train. Effie tries in vain to get Katniss to tell her about her private meeting with President Snow. She may as well have been talking to a brick wall._

_It was all Katniss could do, of course, to control herself and keep her emotions in check. So, she sits in the car, staring blankly out the window as Effie prattles on, all the while exerting a phenomenal effort to not scream, burst out in hysterical sobbing, or both._

_Upon arrival back at the train, Katniss went immediately to her private suite, ignoring the questions from Cinna and Cressida. Only Haymitch refrains from badgering her with a barrage of questions regarding her audience with President Snow. Instead, he just watches from the background, fresh drink in hand, and a look of infinite sadness on his face._

_Katniss manages to make it all the way into her suite before losing control. She sags against the door, fumbling behind her for the lock as the tears finally begin to flow freely. Her face contorts as her body shakes with violent sobs. Her support team stands on the other side of the door, knocking insistently, asking to be let in. Katniss finally says her first words since her meeting with President Coriolanus Snow._

_"Go AWAY! Leave me ALONE!"_

_It was Haymitch that manages to herd Effie, Cinna, and Cressida away from Katniss's door, and into the lounge car. Once in the lounge, the three turn to Haymitch for answers._

_"Haymitch," Effie says, "If you have any idea of why Katniss is behaving in this manner, then please share!"_

_Cinna nods in agreement. "Anything you can tell us would be helpful, Haymitch," the soft-spoken Stylist says, concern tingeing his voice. "I don't have much time before the Prep Team and myself have to start working on her."_

_"Please, Haymitch," Cressida entreats, "I think you do know why Katniss is so upset...and, if so, you need to share with us."_

_Haymitch looks at each of the three in turn before speaking. "You all...you all really do...care for her, don't you?"_

_Effie looks at Haymitch in amazement. "Well, of_ course _we do, Haymitch!" Cinna and Cressida nod in agreement. Haymitch takes a deep breath before replying._

_"I can't say for sure," he slowly says. "But I think I do know what may have happened. And that's all that I will say to any of you about this. If Katniss wants you to know...and I doubt that she will, if what I think happened actually did happen..._ she _needs to be the one to tell you,_ not _me."_

_"Oh, Haymitch," Effie says softly. "You...you make it sound as if it may be bad. Is it?"_

_"Princess," Haymitch says wearily, gulping down his drink, "You have_ no _idea."_

* * *

_Katniss is curled up on her bed, emotionally drained, clutching a pillow to her chest, when she hears a soft knock on her door. She ignores it._

_A second gentle knock a moment or two later, this one accompanied by, "Katniss? Sweetheart? Can we talk?"_

_Katniss sighs and rolls off of the bed, shuffling to the door listlessly, and throwing the bolt back. She's shuffling back to her bed even as she hears the door open, then close behind her. She flops down on the bed, clutching the pillow once again, staring blankly at the far wall. She lays like that for several minutes, aware of another presence in her room...and not caring._

_The sound of Haymitch's voice finally snaps her out of her self-imposed trance. "Katniss," he softly says. "I'm...I'm sorry."_

_Katniss rolls over on the bed and regards Haymitch with narrowed eyes. "You knew?" she hisses._

_"No," Haymitch replies truthfully, then adds, "But I suspected."_

_Katniss, moving faster than Haymitch thought possible, rolls off the bed and is standing toe to toe with him, her eyes blazing with fury. "You_ 'suspected?' _" She shouts, her hand lashing out, striking Haymitch across his stubbled cheek. "You_ 'suspected,' _and decided not to say anything? You son of a bitch!" Twice more Katniss strikes out at her Mentor, who makes no move to stop her. "You mother fucker! You said nothing, when you could have -"_

_"Could have what?" Haymitch says in a pained voice, his cheeks red from her blows. "Told you? Warned you? And if it didn't happen, then you would have gone days...or even weeks...worrying about it. Thinking about it. This trip's been challenging enough, Sweetheart. It would have been ten times worse if I had planted that seed in your head."_

_Katniss, her fury diminishing with each passing second, sinks wearily down onto the edge of the bed. "He...he said that if I...didn't...that Prim would...Prim would..."_

_Haymitch sits next to Katniss on the bed. "Trust me. If you don't...he will. And he won't hesitate. Not one second."_

_Katniss looks down at the floor. "I...I don't know if I can."_

_Haymitch turns and grabs Katniss firmly by her shoulders, turning her to face him. "Katniss. Listen to me. If you don't...if you refuse...your sister and mother will be dead before we get back to Twelve."_

_Katniss shakes her head. "No! You don't know that! You can't be sure!"_

_"I do know, and I am sure." Haymitch's voice is infinitely sad. "And if you need proof...just look at me. Ever notice that I live alone, and have for years? Ever wonder why I don't have any family?"_

_Katniss lifts her tear-streaked face, her eyes meeting Haymitch's. "You...it happened to you?"_

_Haymitch nods. "Mine was a different situation...but the outcome would be the same. Think about it."_

_Katniss says nothing and begins to cry softly. Haymitch wraps one arm around her slender shoulders and pulls her close to him. Katniss buries her face in his chest and sobs quietly._

_"I want to go home," she whispers plaintively, and, for a moment, she's not Katniss Everdeen, resourceful Seam girl, or Katniss Everdeen, Hunger Games Victor...but Katniss Everdeen, scared sixteen-year-old girl._

_"I know, Sweetheart," is all Haymitch can think to say. "I know."_

* * *

_The Presidential Victory Celebration and Reception - Main Ballroom, the Presidential Palace - Ten Forty P.M._

_Slowly, her legs weak and trembling, Katniss Everdeen approaches a black-clad guard, reaching into her clutch and extracting a small, embossed card. The man, his face expressionless, watches her approach. Katniss, desperately trying to control her breathing, stops a step in front of the man._

_"How may I help you, Miss Everdeen?" The man asks._

_Wordlessly, Katniss extends her hand, handing the small card to the guard. The man takes it, examines it quickly, and then holds one arm out, indicating an elevator door set discreetly down a short hallway. Katniss nods once and follows the guard down the hallway to the closed elevator door. Once at the door, the guard presses the call button. The elevator doors immediately slide open. Another gesture by the guard and Katniss steps into the elevator, immediately followed by the guard, who presses a button marked with the number 3, causing the doors to slide shut immediately. Katniss feels the elevator begin to move upwards._

_The elevator sighs to a smooth stop and the door slides open. The guard points to a door at the end of a short hallway. "The Antoninus Room, Miss Everdeen," he says. "When you are...finished...just press the call button here." The guard indicates a button on the wall next to the elevator door. " Good evening."_

_The elevator door slides shut. Katniss turns and walks slowly down the hallway to the door. As she raises her hand to knock, she murmurs, "For Prim." She then raps softly, three times._

_The door swings open, revealing a woman dressed in the garb of a member of the Presidential household staff. "Miss Everdeen," the woman says, "come in, please."_

_Katniss steps into the room, and can see immediately that she's in some sort of outer chamber, with a vanity, mirrors, chairs, a couch, a wardrobe...but no bed. Two more women, younger than the first, stand quietly off to one side._

_"These Avox," the woman explains, "are here to assist you, both now and...afterward. There's a house phone on the vanity. If you require anything other than what is provided here, simply pick up that phone and I will see to any other need that may arise. Do you have any questions?"_

_Katniss swallows heavily. "Where's...where's..."_

_"Mister Hammersmith is in there," the woman says, indicating a door on the far wall. "Oh! I almost forgot. Extend your arm, please." The woman produces a syringe from a pocket in her smock._

_Katniss extends her arm, clenching her fist to hide her trembling fingers. "What is it?"_

_The woman places the end of the syringe against Katniss's forearm and depresses the plunger. There's a quick, faint hiss and just the barest of pinpricks._

_"It's a time-release contraceptive," the woman explains, withdrawing the syringe._

_"Oh," is all Katniss could say, trying, and failing, to bite back the new tears brimming in the corners of her eyes._ It's really happening, _she says to herself, then,_ I have to. For Prim.

_"I'll leave you to get ready now," the woman says, then leans forward to whisper, "Don't worry. He's gentle. You could do a lot worse."_

_The woman turns and leaves the room without another word, or a backward glance. Katniss turns to the pair of Avox waiting patiently. "Okay," is all she says._

_The Avox pair work quickly and efficiently, carefully stripping off Katniss's Victory Reception gown (a sleeveless, low-cut, floor-length black dress, artfully decorated with Mockingjay feathers), hanging it just as carefully, removing her shoes, and then stepping forward with a white, sleeveless, diaphanous floor-length robe, fastened in the front with a single tie. The Avox help Katniss into the robe, then turn her to face the full-length mirror as they make final adjustments to her hair._

I can see everything,  _Katniss says to herself, feeling a blush creep over her shoulders, neck, and face. She feels a soft touch at her shoulder and glances at the Avox standing next to her. The mute gives her a small smile, and then inclines her head toward the door. The other Avox is standing by the door patiently, her hand on the door handle._

_Katniss takes a final deep breath, nods at the Avox standing at her side, murmurs "For Prim," one last time, and slowly walks toward the door. The Avox standing at the door opens it in a single smooth motion. Katniss steps through the door, hearing it shut firmly behind her, and faces Cassius Hammersmith._

* * *

_The room is illuminated by nothing but a half-dozen strategically placed candles. Katniss strains her eyes in the dim light, able to just make out the shape of a man reclined on a massive bed in the center of the room._

_"Come in, child," a deep, richly toned voice says from the bed. Katniss steps forward on shaking legs, stopping a good three paces from the bed. For the first time she can clearly see the figure lying on the huge bed._

_Katniss's first impression was one of size. Cassius Hammersmith was a large man, with a full head of iron gray hair. In contrast to her white, diaphanous robe, his had full sleeves, was black, and was completely opaque. She could feel his eyes flicker over her body and had to fight a reflex to cover her breasts and groin with her hands and arms._

_"Lovely," Hammersmith breathes. "Truly beautiful. You_ are _a prize, my little Victor. I was one of your most ardent supporters in your Games, you know...as well as one of your most generous Sponsors."_

_"Thank you, sir," Katniss murmurs softly, even while thinking;_ He's old enough to be my grandfather! _She could feel herself shiver again, and hope that he didn't notice._

_He did notice. "Don't fear me, child," he says soothingly, even as he rises from the bed to stand before her. Katniss, her head lowered, couldn't help but notice that the front of Hammersmith's robe was tenting out prominently, and she could feel herself blush again as she realized exactly what it was that was causing the bulge in his robe._

_"I shan't hurt you, Katniss," Hammersmith murmurs gently, stepping ever closer to her. Reflexively, Katniss can feel herself take a step backwards, only to catch herself and stop._

_"Sorry," Katniss gasps, thinking,_ I have to do better...for Prim. _Hammersmith puts his hands gently on her shoulders, effectively preventing her from retreating._

_"Beautiful girl," he murmurs, cupping one hand under her chin and raising her face up to his. Katniss squeezes her eyes shut as she feels his lips press down on her own, and feels an involuntary shudder of revulsion as his tongue wetly invades her mouth._

_"Mmmmm," Hammersmith moans as he passionately kisses Katniss. He slips his hands down to her buttocks, cupping the firm cheeks and pulling her body close to his. Katniss shudders again as she feels Hammersmith's firm shaft press urgently against her belly._

For Prim, _she says to herself again as she clumsily attempts to return his kiss. She can feel his hands slide around to the front of her body, moving up to cup her breasts through her thin robe. In spite of her fear and revulsion, Katniss can feel her nipples respond to Hammersmith's caresses, and feels him moan into her mouth._

For Prim.  _Hammersmith is pulling at the tie to her robe now, and then sliding his hands underneath to eagerly caress her bare flesh. His fingers race over her body, caressing her buttocks, her bared nipples, her belly, her thighs, and finally slipping between her legs to gently fondle her warming center, his fingers combing through the sparse patch of black hair nestled on her lower belly. Another shudder passes through her body as she feels Hammersmith's urgent mouth on her throat...Katniss biting her lip to prevent the scream from escaping and fighting down the bile rising in her throat._

For Prim.  _Hammersmith is guiding her hands to his robe tie. Reluctantly, Katniss pulls at the silken cord, even as he brushes his hands over her shoulders, pushing the robe off of her body. Katniss is only barely aware of the fact that she's now completely naked in front of this man, as he eagerly shrugs his own shoulders, his black robe falling in a heap at his feet. Hammersmith gently takes her hand in his own, guiding it to his jutting shaft._

For Prim.  _Hammersmith closes Katniss's hand around his pulsing organ, and guides her in stroking his aroused sex. His own fingers return to her moistening cleft and he moans in pleasure at the feel of her clumsy caresses, even as he sucks each of her nipples into his mouth in turn._

For Prim.  _Hammersmith is guiding her back onto the bed, gently but firmly pushing her down, parting her thighs, then standing up, looming over her. "Oh, my beautiful little Victor," he breathes, staring down at Katniss's naked body sprawled out on the bed beneath him, her thighs parted, her sparsely furred cleft glistening. Katniss can feel her heart pounding and her mouth going dry as she stares fearfully back up at the huge man. Unbidden, she reaches out to grasp Hammersmith's throbbing erection, stroking it as he showed her._ Maybe, if I can get him excited enough, he will...finish...without doing...that, _she says to herself._

For Prim.  _Hammersmith climbs onto the bed, gasping with excitement, his organ swaying as he positions himself between her parted thighs._ I can't,  _Katniss says to herself, as she pushes her buttocks into the mattress, away from the older man's questing shaft._ I can't...he's too big...I can't.  _Katniss puts her hand to her mouth and bites down on the heel as Hammersmith runs the head of his leaking shaft up and down the moistened lips of her pink cleft, then aims carefully and pushes downward._

For Prim.  _Katniss tries, and fails, to stifle a scream as Hammersmith's pulsing staff penetrates her tight body, filling her with pressure and heat. Again, she almost gags as his lips press down on hers and his tongue invades her mouth. Katniss groans involuntarily as Hammersmith's heavy body settles down on her own slender form. The sensation of blood trickling down her inner thighs is matched by the sensation of her tears trickling down the sides of her face as Hammersmith raises himself up over her supine body and his hips begin to thrust rhythmically._

_Katniss remembers to gasp and moan every so often as Hammersmith relentlessly continues his thrusts. As he continues to impale the slight girl beneath him, Katniss finds herself repeating an almost soothing mantra in time to his thrusts._

For Prim. For Prim. For Prim. For Prim. For Prim. For Prim. For Prim. For Prim.

**PART III**

_Dawn was three hours away when the car pulled up to the Victory Tour Train and discharged Katniss Everdeen._

_Her entire support crew was wide-awake, sitting in the lounge car, when she returned. Even though Haymitch had told them all to go to bed..."There's nothing you can do, anyway," he had said to them...they all insisted on remaining up._

_Only Haymitch knew the real reason why Katniss had excused herself from the Reception...and, in spite of their best efforts, he steadfastly refused to divulge why. But as the hours passed, each of them in turn...Effie, Cinna, and Cressida...all realized that, whatever the reason...it was not good for Katniss._

_Still, the hour was late, and it had been an exhausting two weeks. All four were dozing fitfully in chairs or on couches in the lounge car (Cressida had sent her crew to bed hours before) when the car pulled up on the gravel siding._

_Cinna heard the slam of the car door and was instantly awake. Quickly, he rouses Effie, Cressida, and Haymitch. Haymitch, bottle nestled firmly in his lap, was the most difficult to wake, but Cinna's urgent whisper of "Haymitch! She's back!" was enough to penetrate the alcohol-induced fog that surrounded his brain._

_The door to the lounge car hisses open and Katniss steps through wearily, dressed in her magnificent Reception gown. She stops suddenly when she realizes that Haymitch, Effie, Cinna, and Cressida are all awake and standing in the lounge car. For a moment she stares at them, her face an expressionless mask._

_Effie breaks the silence. "Katniss, dear, are you -"_

_"I'm fine," Katniss snaps. "Just wonderful! Can't you tell?"_

_Cinna steps forward. "Katniss, you know that we're -"_

_"Save it!" Katniss spits. She glares at each one in turn, and then says dully, "I'm going to take a shower and go to bed."_

_Katniss abruptly turns to leave. Cressida steps forward. "Katniss, whatever it is -"_

_"Fuck you," Katniss says in a flat voice, then turns and looks first at Cinna, then and Effie. "Fuck you both as well."_

_The foursome stares in shock as Katniss turns and disappears down the corridor. Effie turns and faces the rest of the group. "Well, what prompted_ that _? And why just the three of us, and not you, Haymitch?"_

_"Isn't it obvious?" Cinna replies calmly. "Haymitch is from home. District Twelve. We're all from the Capitol."_

_"Give the man the prize," Haymitch says cynically. He slumps back into his chair, taking a pull from his bottle. Cressida looks stricken. Effie just looks confused. Just then they can all hear the sounds of a shower being run._

_"Well, I for one am totally confused by all this," Effie says. "I mean, whatever did we do -"_

_"Don't get your panties in a bunch, Princess," Haymitch snorts. "I can guarantee it's not personal."_

_"What do you know, Haymitch?" Cressida asks quietly._

_Haymitch just shakes his head and takes another pull from the bottle. "Ask her," he mumbles. "But not tonight. And probably not tomorrow, either." He looks up at the trio surrounding him...the Escort, the Stylist, and the Resident Director. "You should all get some sleep." He chuckles humorlessly. "Another big, big, big day ahead!"_

_"That's_ not _funny, Haymitch!" Effie snaps. "And what about you? Are you just going to sit there all night? Don't you need sleep also?"_

_"I'm good," Haymitch says, hefting his bottle. "He'll keep me company. I don't sleep well, anyway. You know that, Princess. Now,_ go to bed. _All of you."_

_Wordlessly, the three depart. Haymitch slumps in his chair and listens as the shower sounds cease. Twenty minutes later, the shower sounds start up again. Haymitch sits, staring into the darkness, occasionally pulling on his bottle, as the shower sounds cease once again. He catches himself dozing off as the shower sounds begin once again, this time lasting for a good twenty minutes. A moment after they stop again Haymitch hears the door at the end of the lounge car hiss open._

_"Haymitch," Cressida says softly. "Have you been sitting here this whole time?"_

_"Never left," Haymitch replies, holding up the bottle. "Care for a drink?"_

_Cressida surprises him by grabbing a glass and holding it out for him to fill. Haymitch doesn't hesitate. He pours a healthy drink into her glass, and then raises his bottle in salute._

_"A toast," he says mockingly, "To Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire, Victor of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games." Haymitch pulls deeply from his bottle, then pulls the bottle away from his mouth and looks at Cressida._

_"What's the matter?" He asks crossly. "Not drinking to our Victor?" At that moment, the sounds of a running shower start up again._

_"That's the fourth one," Cressida says worriedly._

_"And she can count, too," Haymitch replies sarcastically._

_"Fuck off, Haymitch!" Cressida snaps. "What she said to me earlier...that hurt. I thought we had become friends."_

_Haymitch laughs. "Katniss Everdeen had one..._ one _...friend, and he's been busy rotting away in a simple pine box since last summer."_

_Cressida is silent for a moment. She stares into her drink, and then finally looks up. "She was raped, wasn't she?"_

_"No," Haymitch says sadly. "She wasn't raped. What happened to her was worse than rape."_

_"Worse than rape?" Cressida frowns. "What could possibly be...oh. Great Snow. You're right. She wasn't raped."_

_Haymitch nods. "Right."_

_"She was sold." Cressida whispers in horror._

_Haymitch nods. "Right."_

_"Sold," Cressida says again. "By...oh, no. Her meeting earlier today. Her mood this afternoon. Disappearing during the Reception. Her hostility towards Effie, Cinna, and I. It all makes sense, now."_

_In response, Haymitch takes a deep drink from his bottle._

_"But why?" Cressida asks. "What could possibly motivate her to go along with it? She's a_ Victor _, dammit!"_

_"Don't ask me what her motivation was," Haymitch says. "You should ask Johanna Mason instead. Or, better yet, ask Johanna's family."_

_"Not funny, Haymitch!" Cressida snaps. "Johanna doesn't have a family. They're all -"_

_"Dead," Haymitch finishes. "Yes. I know."_

_Cressida sits clutching her drink, then she suddenly tosses it back all at once, coughs, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. The sound of the running shower stops again, and Cressida jumps to her feet, turns, and walks toward the lounge car exits._

_"Going someplace?" Haymitch asks sarcastically._

_"I'm going to talk to her," Cressida replies flatly._

_"Girl, you_ do _have a death wish," Haymitch says. "What makes you think she'll talk to you?"_

_"I don't know," Cressida says firmly, "but I have to try." With that, she turns and walks out of the lounge car. Haymitch raises his bottle to her as he hears the sound of the door hissing shut._

_"Good luck. And may the odds be ever in your favor."_

* * *

_Cressida stops outside Katniss's door, listening intently, and hearing nothing. She raps softly on the door._

_"Katniss? It's Cressida."_

_"Go away." Katniss's muffled voice comes through the door._

_"Katniss?" Cressida calls out. "Come on, honey. Open then door."_

_Suddenly the door flies open. Katniss's hand shoots out, gripping Cressida by her throat. Katniss pushes her way out of her room, backing Cressida into the far wall. Cressida's eyes widen when she sees the knife clenched in Katniss's free hand._

_"You don't fucking listen, do you?" Katniss snaps. "Leave. Me. The. Fuck. ALONE!"_

_"I was raped," Cressida manages to gasp._

_Katniss's eyes narrow. "What did you say?"_

_"When I was fourteen," Cressida continues, feeling Katniss's grip lessen ever so slightly._

_Katniss lowers the knife. "Come on in," she says resignedly, removing her hand from Cressida's throat. She turns and slumps back into her room, with Cressida following close behind. Cressida carefully closes and locks the door behind her, then pulls up a chair as Katniss sinks on to her bed, laying in a fetal position on her side, clutching a pillow to her chest._ She looks like a lost little girl, _Cressida says to herself, as she looks at Katniss, now wearing a long-sleeved flannel nightgown. Cressida notes that it's forest green...what Katniss had told her is her favorite color._

_"Haymitch told you, didn't he?" Katniss asks quietly. "That son of a bitch."_

_"No one told me, Katniss," Cressida says gently. Katniss frowns._

_"Then how -" Katniss begins._

_"I figured it out," Cressida replies. "I'm a reporter, remember?"_

_"So you know," Katniss says listlessly, then, "I feel dirty. No matter how many showers I take. I feel so dirty."_

_Tears begin to well up in Katniss's eyes as Cressida shifts to the bed, laying her hand gently on Katniss's shoulder._

_"I know," Cressida says softly. "I did too."_

_"What happened?" Katniss asks, her voice catching slightly._

_Cressida sighs deeply. "It was a friend of my father's," she says painfully. "It happened at his summer house in the mountains outside the Capitol. He went out one night with my mother and father. I stayed back...I hadn't been feeling well. He came home early and...went to my bedroom. And no one believed me."_

_"No one?" Katniss asks. "Not even your parents?"_

_Cressida laughs bitterly. "Especially not my parents. The man was a business partner of my father's. My father was afraid of losing the money that he put into the business. And the man laughed about it when I confronted him...he said that if I knew what was good for me that I would just forget it. And I did...I was afraid my father would lose all his money if I didn't...and that he would end up in debtor's prison. So I did. I never spoke of it ever again." Cressida looks down at Katniss, tears slowly rolling down her cheeks as she says, "Until just now."_

_Katniss props herself up on one elbow. "I'm sorry, Cressida," she says softly. "I...well, I'm just sorry. For what I said earlier."_

_"Forget it," Cressida says, sniffing back new tears. "I know why you said it. Katniss, we're all on your side. Remember that."_

_Katniss is silent for a moment before she speaks again. "Did you...did you feel...dirty afterwards also?"_

_Cressida smiles sadly at the younger girl. "How did you think I figured out what happened to you?"_

_"It was awful," Katniss whispers. "He...he was too big." Katniss blushes at the memory. "And...it hurt me. And it still hurts."_

_"Do you want me to get someone from medical?" Cressida asks._

_"No!" Katniss replies, then, softer, "No...I mean, I'll be fine." Katniss pauses for a moment. "There was a lady there. She gave me a shot. So I wouldn't get pregnant."_

_"That...that's good, honey," Cressida says. "Did he...I mean, when he finished..."_

_Katniss chokes back a sob. "In...inside. He...inside me. And he made me get a damp cloth and...wash him off."_

_"We don't have to talk about this, Katniss," Cressida says softly. Katniss ignores her._

_"He...he put his...in my mouth," Katniss gags slightly at the memory. "He was moaning and holding my...head...down there...and then he...he...in my mouth..."_

_Katniss suddenly lurches off the bed and stumbles into the bathroom, with Cressida right behind her. Katniss hunches over the toilet and vomits as Cressida kneels beside her, holding her hair and gently patting her back._

_"Here," Cressida says, holding a glass of water out to Katniss. "Rinse your mouth."_

_Katniss gratefully accepts the glass, rinsing her mouth, and then spitting the water into the sink. She shakily gets to her feet, assisted all the way by Cressida, and makes her way back to her bed._

_Cressida sits next to her, cradling her gently. "I want to go home, Cressida," Katniss says plaintively. "The whole time in the Games, I never once said that. Not one time. But now I want to go home more than anything."_

_"I know, honey," Cressida says, gently rocking the younger woman. "I know."_

**PART IV**

I wait at the train station, shivering in the frigid air. For the last two weeks, I've watched, along with the rest of Panem, every stop on Katniss's Victory Tour. Mandatory Viewing, which had been so difficult during the Games, had actually become a festive occasion, with me watching with Mrs. Everdeen and Prim just about every night.

Together, we watched stop after stop, as Katniss addressed each district in turn. We watched as Katniss went to party after party in her honor. We watched as Katniss made her appearance on Caesar Flickerman's show, and Prim ooohed and aaahed at the incredible gown that Katniss had worn to the Presidential Reception. Mrs. Everdeen was just anxious to get Katniss back home.

For the most part, my days were filled primarily with avoiding Hazelle Hawthorne and spending a lot of time with Goat Man, practicing knife-fighting techniques. One big advantage to living near the east mine entrance slagheap was privacy. Hardly anyone, including Peacekeepers, went down that way. I threw knives until I thought that my arm was going to fall off. With sheathed knives, Goat Man and I practiced both offensive and defensive knife fighting techniques. I only asked him one time where he picked up his expertise in knives.

"Kid, trust me, you don't want to know."

I let it drop after that.

Tonight, there was supposed to be a big celebration to commemorate Katniss's return. Officially, we were the last stop on her Victory Tour, so there was supposed to be a huge assembly in front of the Justice Building, like in other districts, with Katniss delivering her last speech of the Tour, but the weather decided not to cooperate.

Three days earlier, a blizzard blew in from the north, dumping over two meters of snow on the ground. It was all that emergency crews could do to keep main roads and the train tracks cleared. The Square was still buried, except for paths that Merchants had dug themselves to the different shops.

A compromise was reached. Tonight, Katniss would deliver her last speech live, from the interior of the Justice Building, with only a select few in attendance. This would be followed by a dinner in her honor. After that, things would return to normal in District Twelve...at least until the next Reaping.

So now I stand, shivering, waiting for the train. Only a few others are here...the Everdeens, a few people from the Capitol Liaison office, and the Mayor with his family. I say hello to Madge and make a little small talk with her as we both try to stay warm. Madge and Delly both have returned to their old ways with me, even if most of the school hasn't. Still, it's nice to have my friends back.

There's stirring on the platform as the train finally comes into sight. We all watch impatiently, shivering and stamping our feet, as the train slowly comes to a stop. I step to one side, allowing the Everdeens through. I'm only here for Haymitch, after all.

The door to the big glass-covered lounge car flies open before the train has even fully stopped and a small, fur clad figure charges out into the arms of Mrs. Everdeen and Prim. I smile at the obviously emotional reunion until I catch sight of Katniss's eyes. Even from a distance, I can tell that she's...changed somehow. That there's something different about her.

Katniss stares back at me for a moment, then pointedly looks away, leaving me to wonder what happened to her on the Tour. It was while I was musing about Katniss that Haymitch appears by my side.

" - gonna help me or what?" Haymitch is saying.

"What?" I ask, tearing my gaze away from Katniss and looking guiltily at Haymitch.

Haymitch chuckles and says, "I said, 'are you gonna help me or what?'"

"Shit," I mutter. "I'm sorry, Haymitch. I got...distracted."

Instead of Haymitch giving me his usual sarcastic response, he just looks over at the Everdeens and quietly says, "Yeah. I hear you." Then he turns back to me and says, "I hope you've been keeping up on your training!"

"Faithfully," I reply.

"Hmmph," Haymitch grunts. "We'll see. I plan on getting a complete report tomorrow."

I look around, expecting to see others getting off the train. "Just you and Katniss?" I ask.

"Expecting someone else, kid?" Haymitch asks, as I pick up his shoulder bag and sling it over my right shoulder. As I do, I'm grateful for the fact that, during the Victory Tour, the Stylist dresses the Mentor as well as the Victor. All Haymitch had to pack were a few personal effects. "Don't forget, Effie, Cinna and Cressida all live in the Capitol. And, with the blizzard here, there was no need for Cressida and her crew to come out and cover the last stop on the Tour. They'll just use local talent to cover the shindig tonight...which, by the way, you are  _not_  invited to. Sorry. Officials and immediate family only. So you get to watch it on Holo-TV."

We walk out into the frigid air, and I listen to Haymitch curse fluently at the lack of transportation back to the Village. With a grumble, we start walking.

I wait until we are out of town proper to ask the question that's been burning in my mind ever since I caught that brief glimpse of Katniss.

"Haymitch?" I ask.

"Hmmm?" Haymitch is breathing heavily as he trudges through the snow.

"What happened? On the Tour, I mean." I ask.

Haymitch is suddenly guarded. "What do you mean?"

"It's Katniss," I blurt. "I mean, when I saw her at the station today. She looked...different. Her eyes especially."

Haymitch stops suddenly and grabs me by the shoulder. "I'm only going to say this one time," he hisses, "so pay attention. Do not...I repeat,  _do not_...treat Katniss Everdeen any differently than you normally would." He looks at me intently. "You know, kid, sometimes you're too smart for your own good. Treat her the same way that you normally would...which, for you, means hardly speaking to her and staying out of her way. Got it?"

"Got it," I reply.

The rest of the walk to the Village is made in silence. When we get there, Haymitch has me dump his bag on his bed. By the time I get back downstairs, he's slumped in a chair in the living room, open bottle in hand. He sees me and beckons me into the room.

"Peeta," he says, slurring slightly. "Come here. Listen, I didn't sleep very well last night. I'm gonna take a nap. Do me a favor, lay out my gray suit...you know the one. Lay it out for me and don't let me sleep past three. Got it?"

I nod. "Gray suit. Wake you at three."

"Good boy," he mumbles. "Now get outta here."

I go upstairs and lay out his gray suit. By the time I get back downstairs Haymitch is snoring. I pull a comforter over him and gently remove the bottle from his hand.

As I walk back to the front of the house I glance out the big front window and see the Everdeens walking up to their front door. Prim sees me, smiles, and waves. I grin and wave back. Katniss barely glances up and looks away quickly.

I see that same look in her eyes when our eyes meet. And, for some reason, I feel a chill run up my spine...and not because of the freezing weather outside.

I saw something in Katniss's eyes that I've come to recognize in some of the animals that I've trapped. A haunted, resigned look from those animals that the trap doesn't kill outright.

A look of fear...and of total defeat. I've never seen that look in Katniss's eyes before.

And it scares the hell out of me.


	12. CHAPTER 12

**CHAPTER 12**

**PART I**

After Katniss returned from her Victory Tour, an event occurred that would forever change the relationship that had been evolving between Katniss and I. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Shortly after the Harvest Day/Victory Celebration/Parcel Day/New Years Observance, District Twelve was hit with a blizzard that made the one during the Victory Tour seem like a brief squall.

Two weeks after the New Year, it began to snow. And it snowed. And snowed. And snowed some more. The drifts, which had begun to melt slightly during what we in the district laughingly call the "holiday" season, began to build up again. One meter...two...three meters the drifts piled up. The entire district ground to a halt. The mines closed, businesses stayed shuttered, and the school shut its doors. My lessons with Goat Man were suspended. All I could do was stay in the basement, run on the treadmill, lift weights, and practice the knife techniques that Goat Man had already taught me.

Oh, and listen to Katniss screaming every night. Because even in the worst weather, I just can't sleep well with all the windows closed.

If anything, Katniss's nightmares were worse since her Victory Tour. Worse, and, according to Primrose Everdeen...different.

Prim was over at Haymitch's house one evening, playing chess with me. Haymitch had taught us both how to play, and Prim, to everyone's surprise, proved to be a ruthless and cunning opponent, with an uncanny knack for being able to visualize the board several moves in advance. We were on our third game when she began to talk.

"She talks in her sleep, Peeta," Prim had said while examining the board. "She did before, too, but Mom and I could always understand her...or at least what she was dreaming about. Dad, Gale, the Games...it was easy to figure out. But now..."

I was instantly attentive. This was the most that I had heard Prim...or anyone, for that matter...discuss Katniss since her return. Aside from the screams in the night, I rarely saw her...she stayed in her room on my infrequent visits to her house, and never comes over to Haymitch's anymore...even when Hazelle Hawthorne is here. I'm still haunted by the look in her eyes that I saw the day she returned from her Victory Tour...and now, I finally have a chance at getting some of my questions answered.

"What do you mean, Prim?" I ask, keeping my voice deliberately casual.

Prim frowns, picking up a rook, and then carefully puts it back down again. "She says my name a lot," Prim admits. "Only she always says, 'For Prim,' whatever that means. And she says 'no,' 'please don't,' 'no more,' and 'it hurts' also. And when she wakes up and sees me, sometimes she holds me so tight I can barely breathe." Prim looks up from the board, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Peeta, I'm scared. Katniss isn't talking, Haymitch won't answer questions, and I just  _know_  that something really awful must have happened on the Tour!"

I shake my head. "I know," I sigh in frustration. "I feel the same way. Madge tells me that Katniss has barely even spoken to her also."

Later that night, I lie in bed and I think about what Prim has told me. What was Katniss doing 'For Prim?' Who was hurting her? Who was she pleading with? And how could I help?

I sigh and roll over. I don't have answers...only questions.

* * *

The Great Blizzard of the winter of '75 ADD (After Dark Days) finally ends. The clouds part, the sun comes out, and slowly, gradually, the snow begins to melt. In an amazingly short time enough snow has disappeared to allow the mines, school, and shops to re-open. For once, I think everyone in Twelve is grateful for the Capitol...the food packages from Parcel day kept the poorest of the poor in the Seam from starving during the Blizzard.

I head to the Hob on the first Saturday after the end of the blizzard. Haymitch would rather have me training with Goat Man, but at the same time he was running low on white liquor. Haymitch prioritized. White liquor won. It's while I was in the Hob, negotiating with Ripper, the one-armed woman that operates a still, that I spot two of my favorite (okay, my  _only_  favorite) Peacekeepers, Darius and Purnia.

I finish my business with Ripper and hurry to greet the pair of Peacekeepers. Unlike the youthful Darius, Purnia is approaching the end of her Peacekeeping career. Solid, reliable, and fair, she, along with Darius, is among the few Peacekeepers that are approachable...except for today.

Both Peacekeepers were tense and unsmiling. Gentle prodding was only able to discern one thing...there were big changes coming with the local Peacekeeper Corps, and neither Darius or Purnia was happy with the changes.

"I can't say much," Darius had confided in a low tone, "But take my advice...stay out of town for a while."

Darius and Purnia both leave before I'm able to ask either of them why, but it didn't really matter. The entire district found out why the next day...the day that Katniss first looked at me in a way that she had never looked at me before.

**PART II**

The day began as so many Sundays do in Twelve...Katniss indulging one of her few remaining joys...slipping through the boundary fence at dawn with Rory Hawthorne to give him lessons in hunting, trapping, and fishing. No one really thought anything of it. Rory had even scored his first wild turkey that day...a big tom that was busy scratching away at a small patch of exposed earth. The bird never felt the arrow skewer its neck.

Katniss congratulates him on the kill and drops a hint in Rory's ear that old Commander Cray, the Head Peacekeeper for District Twelve, is inordinately fond of wild turkey. That was all Rory needed to hear. Forgotten was checking the snare lines, or foraging for edible plants. With visions of Sesterces dancing in his head, Rory approaches Cray's back door and knocks firmly and loudly, already anticipating the pleasant shock on Cray's face when he sees the big tom turkey.

Only, it wasn't old Cray that opened the door, but a lean, mean-faced Head Peacekeeper named Romulus Thread...and he could give two shits about fresh wild tom turkey. What he  _did_  care about was this seditious little Seam trash poaching on Capitol property.

And so Rory Hawthorne, who hasn't yet turned thirteen years of age, finds himself arrested, charged with poaching, and dragged to the Square. Rory was smart enough not to admit that he and Katniss had been on the other side of the fence, and knew better then to admit that he had shot the turkey with a bow and arrow.  _That_  admission would have earned him a bullet to the back of his head, or, if Thread decided to make a spectacle, a public hanging in the Square. Instead, Rory lied and told Thread that he found the turkey wandering in the Meadow and had chased it down and stabbed it through its neck with a sharpened stick.

That was enough for Thread. President Snow himself had dispatched Thread to District Twelve, with direct orders to clamp down on what Snow had termed "Commander Cray's loose administration of law and order." Thread would have arrived sooner...the original plan was for him to take over the District Twelve Peacekeeper detachment immediately after the New Year, but the weather had interfered with that...and, in fact, he had only just arrived the night before, accompanied by a small, but intensely loyal cadre of hand-picked Peacekeepers. His first official act had been to arrest Cray for gross incompetence and dereliction of duty. His second official act would be to make an example out of this little Seam brat.

I, of course, knew nothing about any of this at the time. Other than the vague warning issued by Darius, I looked at this Sunday like I did any other Sunday...as a training day. My morning was spent with Goat Man, who roundly cursed me for displaying sloppy offensive and defensive knife technique ("Boy, forget the point! You shank someone and, like as not, you'll get your blade stuck in bone and disarmed. The cutting edge is your friend, boy...and if I have to tell you that  _one more time_  I'll personally shove the point up your ass! Got it?" I got it.), while Haymitch was planning a trip to the Hob later in the morning.

As it turned out, Katniss was at the Hob at the same time as Haymitch, selling Rory's trap line catch for him. Fate had placed all three of us in the Square at the same time...and we all had a front row seat to Romulus Thread's brutality.

* * *

I don't know why I chose to cut through the Square that day...I could just as easily head back to the Village without the detour. It certainly wasn't to see my family. Perhaps I was hoping to run into Madge or Delly. I didn't see either of my friends. What I did see was a growing crowd near the center of the Square, and the unmistakable  _crack!_  of a whip striking human flesh.

The sound was visceral. I was suddenly clammy with a cold sweat, in spite of the chill air. I could feel my stomach knot up with each  _crack!_  and I was afraid that I would vomit right then and there. Still, something made me move forward and push my way through the crowd. It wasn't curiosity...it was empathy for the poor bastard strung up on the whipping post that made me want to see who it was...and when I did, I was sorry I forced my way through the crowd.

Rory Hawthorne was slumped over, unconscious, his back a bloody wreck. The snow at the base of the whipping post had been churned into a blood-spattered slush. A tall, lean, gray-haired Peacekeeper, wearing a Commander's insignia, was wielding the lash with a chilling familiarity. A turkey carcass had been nailed to the top of the whipping post. A group of Peacekeepers, Darius and Purnia among them (and, I notice with dismay, Bellatrix Breccia), stand by and watch as a young boy is slowly being whipped to death.

And no one, myself included, was stepping forward to stop it. No one, that is, but a slight, dark haired girl that burst from the crown, screaming Rory's name.

I heard Katniss before I saw her. "Rory!" I heard her scream.  _"Rory!"_  I could see her now, charging toward the Peacekeeper. "Stop! You're killing him!"

The man stopped just long enough to spin around and snarl, "Stop right there! One more step and you'll join this brat on the post!" Katniss skids to a stop, an arm's breadth from the Peacekeeper, her chest heaving as she gasps for air. The Peacekeeper sneers at her, turns his back, and raises his whip arm once more...only to have Katniss lunge forward, grabbing his arm and shouting, "No!"

The Peacekeeper almost casually shrugs her off, then spins and swings the butt of the whip at Katniss, striking her in the face. Katniss crumples to the ground, her hands clutching her head just above her eye. Without even realizing it, I take two steps forward, only to feel hands grabbing me from behind and holding me back.

Katniss scrambles to her feet, blood dripping down her face, as the Peacekeeper turns back towards Rory. Once again, he raises his arm to strike...and Katniss calmly steps in front of him, placing herself between the Peacekeeper and Rory.

"Step aside, bitch!" The Peacekeeper snarls. Katniss stands rooted to the spot. I notice Breccia and another Peacekeeper move forward in support of this unknown Peacekeeper. I wrench myself free from the restraining hands just as the Peacekeeper drops the whip and pulls out his pistol. The sight of the pistol freezes me just as effectively as the restraining hands did just moments before...and I curse myself for my cowardice.

He raises the pistol, pointing it directly at Katniss's head. "I said, step aside!"

Katniss looks at him defiantly and says one word. "No."

Very deliberately, the Peacekeeper pulls the hammer back with his thumb. "Fine," he snarls. "Then you pay the price!"

"Commander!" Haymitch's voice rings out from the crowd, which parts to let him through. "Wait!" The Peacekeeper glances over at Haymitch, now walking toward him briskly. His gun hand wavers from Katniss, to Haymitch, then back to Katniss again.

Haymitch reaches Katniss just as the other Peacekeepers flank the man with the gun. "Commander," Haymitch says calmly, "You're new here, so perhaps you weren't aware of who this young lady is."

"I know who she  _thinks_  she is, rummy!" The Peacekeeper sneers at Haymitch. "And I know who you  _think_ you are, too! Victors ain't above the law, ya know!"

"Commander," Haymitch says reasonably, his hands slightly raised, "I can see we got off on the wrong foot here. I'm Haymitch Abernathy...and the young lady is Katniss Everdeen, Victor of the last Hunger Games."

"I told you, I know who you both are!" The Peacekeeper turns slightly and raises his voice. "Romulus Thread... _Commander_  Romulus Thread, new Head Peacekeeper for this shithole district."

"Well,  _Commander,_ " Haymitch says with an edge to his voice, "you did a very nice job on my Victor's face! Are you aware...no, of course you aren't...but that Katniss is scheduled to leave for the Capitol in two weeks on...official Games business...and now,  _look at her face!_ "

Thread shrugs, his gun still pointed at Katniss. "Not my problem," he snaps.

"No?" Haymitch asks. "For your information,  _Commander_ , Miss Everdeen is traveling at the direction of President Snow...who, I am sure,  _won't_  be happy if his newest Victor's face is marred in any way!"

I see Thread hesitate for just a moment. "Very well. I'll forget this little incident. Now get her out of here and be warned that I will not tolerate any future interference. Got that?"

"Got it," Haymitch replies, grabbing Katniss by her shoulders and trying to pull her away.

"Let's go, Sweetheart," Haymitch murmurs. Katniss resists, pulling away from him.

"No!  _No!_ " Katniss shouts. "He has to stop! Haymitch,  _make him stop_!"

"You've been warned, girl," Thread says sternly, holstering his pistol and picking up his whip. Suddenly, what I have to do...what I  _must_  do...is crystal clear. "Now stand aside."

"Wait," I hear myself say as I step forward. I hear a new gasp rise up from the crowd. "Doesn't the law allow for a surrogate in cases of corporal punishment?"

I see Thread's eyes narrow as he stares at me. "It does," he admits reluctantly.

I take a deep breath. "Then I offer myself as surrogate."

"Boy, are you crazy?" Haymitch demands, his hands still firmly on Katniss's shoulders.

"I know what I'm doing," I reply through clenched teeth.

"Very well," Thread says. He points to Darius and Purnia. "You...and you. Cut this brat down." He then turns toward Breccia and another Peacekeeper. "You two. Lash him to the post once the brat's clear."

"With pleasure," Breccia says, moving forward quickly and grabbing my arm roughly. "Come back for more, Shithead?" She whispers as the other Peacekeeper grabs my free arm. I don't respond.

Darius and Purnia gently drag a limp Rory away from the post and carefully lay him on the ground. Katniss rushes over to him once he's clear. A pair of Gale's old friends, Thom and Bristel, rush out of the crowd, carrying a wide wooden plank that they found someplace. Together, they and Katniss manage to roll Rory onto the plank. I hear him moan slightly but he remains, thankfully, unconscious.

Breccia and the other Peacekeeper hustle me forward, stripping my shirt off in the process, exposing my scarred back. As they lash me to the post I hear another gasp go up from the crowd...and another, much closer. From Katniss.

In spite of the cold knot of fear that I feel in the pit of my stomach, I manage to turn my head and catch a glimpse of Katniss, kneeling in the slush next to Rory, her eyes wide as she stares at the scars criss-crossing my back. Thread steps into my field of vision, slowly coiling his whip.

"For the record, boy," he says as he steps back, measuring the distance between him and I with his eyes, "What's this brat to you?"

I glance quickly at the slumped form of Rory Hawthorne, blood dripping from his back into the slush beneath him, then turn and look Thread straight in the eye. "Him? He's nothing. He's nothing to me. But a debt needs to be repaid."

Thread shakes his head. "You people have some funny ideas," he mutters, pulling his arm back. I tense, squeezing my eyes shut, waiting for the fire of the first blow.

"Sir?" I hear Purnia's voice. "Sir, I believe that, for a first offense, the appropriate number of lashes has been administered already."

"What?" Thread snaps.

"Yes, sir," Darius quickly adds. "You've given the boy thirty-two strokes by my count. The normal punishment for a first offense of this nature is thirty lashes."

"Is this true?" Thread asks the crowd of Peacekeepers that had remained silent throughout the whipping. The Peacekeepers shift uncomfortably, glancing at one another. I see several shrug their shoulders. "Well?" Thread glares at the assembled Peacekeepers. "I expect my Peacekeepers to know the local laws, inside and out!" He quickly coils the whip, and then addresses Darius and Purnia. "Cut him down," he orders. "Cut him down and release him."

Darius and Purnia rush to complete this latest directive, quickly cutting me down. "But know this, girl," Thread says menacingly, turning to Katniss. "If I catch the boy with poached game again, he'll swing. Got it?"

Thread quickly hangs his whip on his belt and stalks away, but not before ordering the Square cleared. Everyone was all too happy to comply. I rub my wrists to get the circulation going again and someone hands me my shirt. I slip it on, and, once I'm dressed again, I step forward, bending to grab one corner of the plank that bears Rory's limp body. Thom glances at me in surprise but says nothing.

"Where to, Katniss?" Thom asks.

"The Village," Katniss replies. "My mother."

Thom nods. "On three," he says to Bristel, Haymitch and I. "One...two... _three._ " We carefully pick up the plank and slowly make our way out of the Square. I see Katniss turn to a Seam girl...Leevy; I remember her name is...and say, "Go get Hazelle Hawthorne. Tell her that Rory's hurt and to come to my house in the Village. Go!"

Leevy rushes off to find Hazelle as we slowly and carefully set off for the Village...but not before I catch Katniss looking at me in a way I ever had seen before.

Katniss Everdeen is looking at me with respect.

**PART III**

"Peeta?"

I jerk awake at the sound of my name and from the gentle touch on my shoulder, only to look up and smile sheepishly as Prim Everdeen's face swims into view. "Hey," I manage to croak.

"I've brought you some food," Prim explains, pointing at a plate on the low table in the living room. I suddenly remember that I'm still at the Everdeen house, and that I must have fallen asleep on the couch after helping bring Rory in. I don't remember much...just some intense activity as Mrs. Everdeen and Prim immediately got to work on Rory's ruined back. I felt out of place, but I wanted to help...so I went to work in the only place I was comfortable with...the kitchen. The plate that was sitting on the table contained the meal that I had put together. Absently, I wonder who finished preparing it.

"Thanks," I say, swinging my legs out off the couch and sitting up. I reach for the plate, realizing for the first time just how hungry I was. I glance guiltily at Prim. "Sorry for falling asleep. I sat down and only closed my eyes for a minute..."

"Don't worry about it," she says. "You probably needed it." I nod. Prim didn't say as much, but I could read between the lines. I had come within seconds of being whipped...again. That in itself would make anyone tense...and the adrenaline rush had worn off on the Everdeen's couch.

"How's Rory?" I ask, deftly changing the subject, as I scoop up a forkful of potato.

"Resting," Prim replies. "Madge Undersee...she brought over more of her mothers' morphling while you were sleeping. Peeta, Mom thinks that Rory would have died if he had been whipped for much longer."

"Good thing Katniss stepped forward when she did," I say. "Is she okay? The new Head hit her pretty hard."

Prim nods. "She's got a good lump on her head, and a nasty cut. It's bruising up, too. Mom cleaned it up and told her to keep snow on it." Prim pauses, looking at me intently. "Peeta, is it true? What Thom and Bristel said?"

"I don't know," I reply truthfully, although I have a good idea what she's talking about. "What did Thom and Bristel say?" I spear a slice of ham with my fork, dipping it into a dab of brown mustard before popping it into my mouth.

"That you stepped forward to take Rory's place," Prim says. "Something about being a 'surrogate,' whatever that is. And that the Head allowed it."

I chuckle. "I read about it in one of Haymitch's books. It's a law that goes back to before the Dark Days. It says that a person, not accused of the crime, can volunteer to take all or part of another's corporal punishment. Usually that means flogging, but they also mentioned something called the stocks and pillories also."

Prim shakes her head. "Are you crazy? You of all people know how awful a flogging is! And then we would have two of you to take care of, instead of just Rory!"

"I didn't think about that," I admit sheepishly. "I...I just wanted to..."

"'Repay a debt,'" Prim finishes for me. "That's what Thom told us you said. What debt, Peeta? To Gale? To Hazelle Hawthorne? You did nothing wrong! You know that and I know that!"

I shake my head. "I know. Maybe...maybe it's more...complicated than that."

Prim just shakes her head again, and then points to my empty plate. "Are you done?"

"Yes, thanks," I say, standing up. "It was good."

"It should be," she says with a smile as she picks up my plate, "After all, you made it."

I move to take the plate from her. "I'll do that," I say in protest, but Prim shakes her head.

"I've got this," Prim says firmly. "What I need you to do, though, is go outside and collect up some more snow for me. I need to change Rory's snow coat. There are some buckets just outside the front door."

"Okay," I agree, glad to be able to help. I pause at the door, glancing into the open door of the kitchen, where I can see Rory, sprawled out on the table, Hazelle Hawthorne sitting by his head, holding his hand and gently stroking his hair. Prim hurries into the kitchen, says something to her mother standing by the sink, and then grabs a mortar and pestle and some bottles.

I turn toward the door and grab the handle when I hear a new voice behind me.

"Where are you going?"

I glance around and see Katniss descending the stairs. I realize that she must have been upstairs this whole time, perhaps in her room. She's standing a few steps from the bottom, looking at me, her face impassive.

"Uhh," I stammer, "Prim...Prim needs some more snow. I'm going to get her some."

Katniss hesitates for a moment, and then begins to descend the stairs again. "Wait. I'll go with you."

I don't object.

* * *

"It must have been awful."

Katniss and I are kneeling side by side in the Green...or what would be the Green, come Spring, when the snows melted. She's holding a bucket while I fill it with snow using a small hand trowel. When she spoke my first reaction was to look around to see who else was there...but, of course, it was just her and I working in the early evening chill.

"What?" I ask stupidly.

"Getting flogged," Katniss replies simply.

"Oh." I can feel my face redden, and it's not from the cold...and I realize why. This is the first time she's ever commented on something to do with me. "Yeah," I admit. "Yeah, it was."

"Prim told me," Katniss continues awkwardly, "that she and Mom took care of you for a few days. In our old house in the Seam."

I can feel my blush spread as I remember that Prim and Mrs. Everdeen had to help me with literally everything while I was incapacitated. "Yes. Yes, they took real good care of me. And I felt really bad about it."

Katniss looks at me sharply in surprise. "Why?"

"It was right in the middle of the Games," I explain. "They had more important things to worry about than me."

"Oh." It was Katniss's turn now to be at a loss for words. We finish filling the first bucket in silence and start on the second bucket that we found outside the front door.

"Can...can I ask you something?" I stop shoveling snow into the bucket as I turn my head to look at Katniss.

"Yes," I quietly reply.

"Did you...do what you did today...because of...of Gale?"

"Yes," I whisper.

"Even knowing how bad it really is?"

"I had to," I say simply.

"I didn't know that you understood...you know," Katniss stammers.

"About debt?" I ask as I start digging up more snow again. "About owing? About paying back someone? Yeah. Yeah, I understand all of that. Why wouldn't I?"

Katniss is silent for a moment. I glance over at her as I dig and see a blush creep through her olive skin. "It's just...just that...you know, you're a Merchant and all..."

"Not any more," I say, more gruffly than I intended. I stand up. "Buckets are full. Let's get this snow to your mother and sister."

Katniss and I each pick up a full bucket and slowly trudge the short distance back to her house. "I have to ask you something else," she says hesitantly.

"What?" I glance over at her, her breath hanging in a white cloud over her head.

"I need to know if what I've heard about you is true or not."

There it was. Out in the open. She wants to know if all the rumors are true or not. We begin walking up the walkway to her front door when I begin to speak.

"Did I pay Gale to volunteer for me? No. Did Udo Donner spread viscous rumors about me? Yes. Did Hazelle Hawthorne's money come from me? No. Was I flogged for it anyway? Yes. Did you treat my father and I like shit because of what you were told once you got home?  _Yes!_ Did my parents tell me that I would be forced to make my own way once I turned eighteen?  _Yes!_  Does  _anyone_  in this fucking district believe a word I say?  _No_!"

We pause at the front door. I reach for the handle, but Katniss puts her hand on my arm. "Wait."

I find myself breathing hard, and it's not from exertion. It's from pent-up emotion. "What?" I snap.

"You're wrong," she says softly. "My mother and my sister have always believed you. And I do, too...after I saw what you did today. What you were willing to do...for Rory." Katniss takes a deep breath and pauses before continuing. "I judged you, I was unfair, I was wrong, and I'm sorry."

I feel a wave of shame wash over me. Here this girl...this amazing, beautiful girl...survives the Games and only Snow knows what happened to her in the Capitol...and I'm practically yelling at her. "I...me too," I mumble. "I'm sorry, I mean. For yelling."

"You had a right to yell," Katniss replies. "Peeta...what you did today...when I volunteered for Prim, I really didn't know what to expect." I see her give a slight shudder as if memories of her Games suddenly rise to the surface. "But you... _you_  already knew how awful being flogged is...and you stepped up and volunteered anyway. That's what made me believe you...when you volunteered  _knowing_ how bad it would be. And that makes you...different from anyone else I've ever known."

I grab the door handle again. "I had to do it," I say simply, and then add with a small smile, "And, don't forget, I have experience at being flogged for something I didn't do. Come on...let's get inside and get this snow to your sister and mother."

Katniss nods. We leave one full bucket outside for later. We go inside to deliver the snow to Prim, who mixes it with ground up medicinal herbs into something she and Mrs. Everdeen call a "snow coat." It was only after we were inside and had warmed up by the fire that it hits me.

For the first time, Katniss has called me by my name.

**PART IV**

In spite of taking a worse beating than I did, Rory Hawthorne is up and about in half the time. Prim credits the "snow coat" for his speedier recovery.

I, along with the rest of the district, settle back into routine...if you can call being in a virtual prison a "routine." Commander Romulus Thread makes us long for the good old days under Cray. Rory Hawthorne had been the first flogging under Thread's not so benevolent administration...but it certainly wasn't the last.

That wasn't the only change under Thread. He ordered the Hob closed and then burned the building to the ground, even as Rory Hawthorne was still laid out on the Everdeen's table. He also ordered immediate repairs to the boundary fence, and, once the repairs were completed, ordered it electrified twenty-four hours a day. He even dispatched a pair of Peacekeepers (Bellatrix Breccia being one of them) to Katniss's house to personally inform her of the news.

I wasn't there the night that Breccia showed up to deliver the news to Katniss, but Prim was. According to Prim, Katniss listened calmly as Breccia informed her that, beginning that day, the boundary fence around District Twelve would be electrified twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, then looked Breccia straight in the eye and said, "I thought that the fence was always on. No matter, though...I'm relieved that Commander Thread has corrected an obvious lapse in district security. I'm sure we will all sleep better now for it."

Prim said that Breccia was at a total loss for words.

Thread didn't succeed in changing everything, however. He tried to force me back to my parents' home...until the Capitol Liaison office informed him that Haymitch had filed all the necessary paperwork naming me as a "temporary employee" and him as my "sponsor." Thread also tried to kill the deal between Haymitch and Hazelle Hawthorne, only to find that Haymitch had duly registered her with the Liaison people as his "non-resident domestic." Finally, he tried to accuse Katniss of "unauthorized charitable activities," all because she was still purchasing food, clothing, medicine, and other necessities for the Hawthorne family...only to find that she was within her rights to "gift" a single family whatever she wanted, and that "charity" would have to include two or more families.

Hazelle. Her attitude towards me shifted completely once word of what I had done at Rory's flogging had gotten out. She only mentioned it one time, however. The night of Rory's flogging, after Katniss and I had collected snow, she was getting ready to leave to go home to her other two children when she noticed me for the first time, in the Everdeens' living room. I had just brought in more wood for the fireplace and was stoking the fire when I heard her voice.

"Boy."

I turned around at the familiar, throaty voice, to see Hazelle standing in the doorway leading from the living room to the front hallway. I quickly brushed my hands off on my pants and stand up, facing her.

"Yes, ma'am?"

Hazelle slowly walked into the room. "I...I heard what you done...today," she stammered. "And why you done it. And I wanted you to know that I'm...grateful. And real sorry for how I treated you before."

What Hazelle did next was something I was totally unprepared for. She walks into the living room, grabs me, and pulls me into a tight hug. Then, as if her display embarrassed her, she spun on her heel and left abruptly. I was so shocked that I said nothing during the entire incident.

Hazelle never mentioned it again...but she always greeted me warmly whenever she saw me after that.

* * *

A few weeks after Rory's flogging, Katniss was dispatched to the Capitol. She was supposed to leave earlier, but had been granted a few extra weeks to allow her Thread-induced injury to heal completely. She refused to speak about it, and even Haymitch was very closed-mouthed. All he would say was that Katniss was attending to "official Games business," and that I shouldn't ask so many questions and to "keep your fuckin' nose outta places where it don't belong."

I took the hint. But I could tell that Haymitch was not happy about Katniss being called away.

Katniss would be gone for about two weeks. The Vernal Equinox Observance took place halfway through her absence. This was not a holiday. It simply marked the first day of spring. Of course, that meant it was cold and rainy in District Twelve. But this Equinox was different. This year, it would also mark the Reading of the Card.

The Reading of the Card was established by the Treaty of Treason...the document that gave us the Hunger Games. When the Treaty was signed, it was established that every twenty-five years, a special Games...a "Quarter Quell"...would be held. This year marked the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games, and the Third Quarter Quell.

Quarter Quells were special in that each had a specific theme. Haymitch Abernathy was one of two Quarter Quell Victors. That was why he spent a great deal of his sober time trying to talk me out of volunteering for the Games.

"Kid," he had said on more than one occasion, "Take the absolute worst out of every Hunger Games you've ever saw, multiply that by ten, and you may have some idea of just how bad a Quarter Quell is."

I didn't listen. I knew what I had to do.

As the Reading of the Card was Mandatory Viewing, we (which actually means me, with Haymitch reluctantly agreeing) decided to watch it with Mrs. Everdeen and Prim. We invited Hazelle and her family over as well...even though it would take place after curfew, we could get a special dispensation due to a Mandatory Viewing event...but Hazelle politely declined.

By consensus (meaning Mrs. Everdeen insisted) we had dinner at the Everdeen house, followed by the broadcast of the Reading of the Card. Most of the first half of the program was dedicated to Katniss and her Victory in the last Games, with shots of her attending various Capitol functions...read: parties...seemingly always in the company of a wealthy looking man...or woman...the youngest of which was old enough to be her parent. In spite of myself, I could feel definite pangs of jealousy when I saw her with these people...which was stupid on my part, as we were still barely talking to each other.

I guess love is kind of weird...especially when the other person is unaware of it.

Finally, the Master of Ceremonies, Caesar Flickerman, announces that it's time for President Snow to Read the Card. Caesar quickly introduces other notables seated on the stage...a slender, dark haired man with an elaborate beard named Seneca Crane, who was the Head Gamemaker, a tall, beefy man with sandy blonde hair and a fleshy face named Plutarch Heavensbee, the Assistant Head Gamemaker, Katniss of course, and the man with Katniss...a man old enough to be her grandfather, named Cassius Hammersmith, who was introduced as an Advisor to President Snow. I take an immediate dislike to this man and the familiarity with which he could be seen treating Katniss.

I glance at Prim, Mrs. Everdeen, and Haymitch, and see from the look on their faces that they all feel as I do about this man. "Victor or no Victor, this young lady will have some explaining to do when she gets home," Mrs. Everdeen mutters.

Haymitch shakes his head. "Una, take my advice. Don't say a word to Katniss. Not when she gets home...not ever. Trust me on this."

There was something in Haymitch's voice that prevented Mrs. Everdeen...Una...from responding. She merely nodded, tight lipped, and focused her attention on the Holo-TV.

The national anthem is playing as President Snow walks forward, accompanied by a young boy in a white suit, carrying a plain wooden box. When the anthem ends, President Snow speaks about the Dark Days, the Treaty of Treason, and the special Games known as Quarter Quells, designed to keep fresh the memory of those killed in the Rebellion.

"The Quarter Quells are special indeed," Snow is saying. "In the First Quarter Quell, on the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Games, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the Tributes who would represent it."

Haymitch had spoken briefly about this Quell. Some districts chose kids that were infirm...the blind, those unable to even walk, or those that were severely mentally challenged...thinking that they would do away with those that would be a burden to their society. Others voted for troublemakers...kids that were rebellious. And some outlying districts deliberately voted for kids that came from families known for their support of the Capitol. Even after twenty-five years, the embers of Rebellion weren't completely extinguished.

"In the Second Quarter Quell, on the fiftieth anniversary," President Snow continues, "as a reminder that two Rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many Tributes."

Haymitch chose that moment to half cough, half sneeze. It sounded suspiciously like the word "bullshit." These were his Games the President was speaking about.

"I had a friend who went that year," Mrs. Everdeen says quietly. "Maysilee Donner. Her parents owned the sweet shop. They gave me her songbird after. A canary."

Judging from Haymitch's reaction, the name means something...no, more than something...to him. The name Donner certainly means a lot to me. And, if Prim's reaction is any indication, this was the first she ever heard about her mother's friend Maysilee.

"And now we honor our Third Quarter Quell," President Snow is saying. The little boy in the white suit steps forward, holding out the box as he opens the lid. I can feel my chest tightening and hope that neither Mrs. Everdeen nor Prim notices. In the box is a neat row of envelopes, yellowed with age. President Snow removes an envelope, clearly marked with "75" on the front, and slides a finger under the flap. He carefully removes the card contained inside, holds it up, and begins to read.

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that they could expect no help for their cause outside of the Nation of Panem, no Sponsor gifts of any kind will be allowed. The Tributes must fight and survive with what they find at the Cornucopia and in the arena itself."

I sit silently, stunned by this news. If I go ahead with my plan and volunteer, I already know one thing for certain.

I cannot expect one shred of help from either Haymitch or Katniss while in the arena.

* * *

Mandatory Viewing concludes immediately after that. Haymitch slaps my knee and says jovially, "Alright, kid, time to head home. You do have school tomorrow, remember. Una...Prim...thank you as always for your hospitality." Haymitch hauls himself to his feet and I follow suit, mumbling goodbyes to Mrs. Everdeen and Prim.

Haymitch hustles me out in the chill early spring air and begins talking urgently almost as soon as the door closes behind us.

"Kid, forget your plan," he says quietly as we walk back to his house. "This changes everything. Between Miss Sunshine's Victory from last year and the great showing that I know you would make in training this year, I was counting on being flush with Sponsor money. That's all out the window now."

"So, does that mean that no one gets to be Sponsored this year?" I ask. "Even the Careers?"

"That's what the man said, and...oh, no." Haymitch stops, turns, and grabs me by my shoulders. "Kid, listen to me, and listen very closely.  _I can't help you!_  Do you know what that announcement means? It means that  _every_  kid in that arena will  _have_  to make a run for the Cornucopia!  _Every_  kid. My game plan for you was to get you away from the bloodbath and get you what you needed later on. That's out the window!" Haymitch shudders. "The bloodbath this year will probably be the worst in the history of the Games. Kid...Peeta...listen to me. I was willing to go along with your crazy scheme, because I thought a "District Twelve Career" just might have a good shot at winning...but this? No...it's suicide, plain and simple."

"Haymitch," I say, taken aback by the emotion that he's displaying, "I watch the Games every year. I see how the Careers are showered with whatever they need. That changes this year. You're right...every kid  _will_  make a run at the Cornucopia. Which means that I have all the more chance of getting in, grabbing what I need, and getting out again. It'll be mass confusion in those first few minutes."

But even as I speak, I can feel doubt creep in. Haymitch had always talked about me getting the hell away from the Cornucopia. Now I'm talking about charging right in. No matter what happens, my Games will be decided in the first five minutes. Either I succeed in grabbing what I need and get out...or I'll be dead. And that last part bothers me.

Haymitch shakes his head as he resumes walking back home. "Kid, you wanna fuckin' kill yourself, you ain't gonna do it with my help."

"Haymitch," I plead. "I'll make a deal with you." I take a deep breath. "Coach says I'm the best wrestler he's ever seen. I'm number one this year. He thinks I have a great chance at that scholarship, even though my training for that was just a front. Here's my deal...if I get the scholarship, I'll take my chances at the Reaping. No volunteering. If I don't...we go through with the plan, and I volunteer. Deal?"

Haymitch looks at me intently. "When will you know?"

"They announce the scholarship recipients on May Eighth," I reply.

Haymitch nods. "About seven weeks. Okay, kid. Deal. You keep training. You get it, you go to the University of Panem. If you don't..."

We shake hands firmly outside his front door. As we turn to enter the house...and no more discussion about the Quell...Haymitch mutters softly, "And I hope to Snow you get the scholarship."

**PART V**

I stand outside Haymitch's house in the pre-dawn chill, preparing for my morning run. I stretch slowly and carefully. I'm pushing myself more and more now...running harder, going faster, sprinting for longer and longer distances. The Scholarship announcement is a month away. The Reaping is only a few weeks after that.

As always, I'm intent on my morning routine, so I don't hear the soft footsteps approach me from behind.

"Hey."

I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of Katniss's voice behind me and spin around to see her standing there, dressed as I was...sweatshirt, running shorts...although I couldn't help but notice that hers were very form-fitting, as opposed to my rather baggy shorts...and a good pair of running shoes. Her hair is hanging in a single braid straight down her back. This was the first time that she had spoken to me since her return from the Capitol.

But, even though we hadn't spoken since her return, that doesn't mean that I haven't heard her...and her mother...shouting at each other on a daily basis. I can't make out individual words, but it's not too hard to figure out what the fights are about...and it all goes back to the night of the Reading of the Card, and Katniss's obviously active social life in the Capitol.

"Hey," I manage to brilliantly croak out. "What...what are you doing -"

" - Out so early?" Katniss finishes. She jerks her head at Haymitch's house. "It's  _his_  idea. Well, his and the Gamemakers." She sighs heavily. "Apparently, Crane and/or his flunky, Heavensbee, decided that I was getting a little soft...so they've been getting on me and Haymitch about it." She shrugs her slender shoulders. "And Haymitch said that you ran every morning, and that you wouldn't mind the company." She looks at me rather anxiously. "It is okay, right?"

"Huh?" Another brilliant response. "Oh...sure!" I can't help but watch as she stretches with me for a few minutes while I quickly explain the route to her. I debate as to whether or not I should take it easy on her at first...I know that she hasn't done any sort of running in close to a year...but then remember that, until very recently, she was making daily trips through the fence and into the forest.

Still, I do hold back a little bit as we start running, matching my pace to hers. We don't talk, of course, but there's just something...comforting...about hearing the rhythm of her even breathing.

That is, until the second lap around the district, when Katniss starts to stretch it out a bit. In response, I begin to stretch it out as well...at first, just to keep pace with her, but it soon becomes obvious that she's actively racing me. I pick up my own pace, gradually overtaking and passing her, which causes her to begin to take longer and longer strides herself. Eventually, we are both in a dead sprint for the last three quarters of a kilometer, our breath coming in frantic gasps as our legs and arms churn. I beat her...barely, stopping in front of Haymitch's house maybe ten seconds ahead of Katniss.

Although neither of us can talk...we're too busy coughing and trying to catch our breath...I'm impressed with how Katniss ran. I've been running daily for  _months_ , either on the road or on the treadmill, and I barely beat her.

Together, we do a few ragged stretches, and then Katniss slowly makes her way back to her house, her right hand holding her side. When I call out that I'll see her tomorrow morning at the same time, her only response is to wave her free hand over her head unenthusiastically.

I stand in the street for a moment as I watch her walk back to her house, and then, shaking my head slightly, slowly make my way up the walk towards Haymitch's front door. I just reach the door when Katniss speaks for the first time since before our run started.

"Peeta," she calls out softly. I glance over at her, one house away, and see her standing on her front stoop, one hand on the door handle, looking at me.

"Thanks," she says, with the barest of smiles.

I return her smile with one of my own. "Anytime."

The reason why the Gamemakers are concerned about how Katniss looks doesn't become apparent for a long, long time.

* * *

I knock softly on the open door; sticking my head in and seeing Coach glance up from the paperwork on his desk.

I had just finished my lunch when a runner found me in the cafeteria, handing me a call slip from my wrestling coach. He wanted to see me right away. I didn't hesitate, tossing away the remains of my lunch and immediately hurrying to the gym, feeling my stomach knot up with each step. There's only one reason why he would want to see me right away.

He's heard something about my Capitol Athletic Scholarship.

"You wanted to see me, Coach?" The last time I had felt this way was at the last Reaping, when Effie Trinket called out my name.

"Peeta. Yes." Coach beckons me into his tiny office. "Come in and have a seat."

Nervously I perch on the backless stool in front of his desk. Coach glances down at a paper on his desk, then back up at me. "I'll be blunt," he says. "You were number two."

Number two. Someone else got the scholarship. Suddenly, my nervousness disappears. Okay. Now I know. I know what I have to do. I stand up.

"Thanks, Coach," I say sincerely. "Can I still train? There's always next year."

Coach stands up and sticks out his hand. There's a look in his eyes that I've never seen before. A look of infinite sadness. I grip his hand firmly.

"Of course, Peeta," he says softly. "Like you said, there's always...next year."

I nod. "I...I need to get to class," I explain. "I'll see you after school."

"Of course, Peeta," Coach says. As I turn to leave, Coach says, "And may the odds be ever in your favor."

I don't turn around as I leave, and, that afternoon, when I show up for my extra training, Coach says nothing. He doesn't have to.

He knows.

* * *

I'm at the oxbow...the part of the river that bends under the boundary fence before it makes its way past the mines. I'm addressing a part of my training that I had not paid any attention to...until very recently, during one of my morning runs with Katniss.

It was during our first lap (what I had come to think of as our "easy" lap, before Katniss did her best to try to run me into the ground) as we jogged past the oxbow, that Katniss casually mentioned how much she would miss the lake this summer, now that the fence was electrified twenty-four hours a day.

I asked her about it after we finished our run. "What did you mean about missing the lake? For fishing?"

"That, and for swimming, too," she replied.

"Swimming?" I didn't know anyone in District Twelve that knew how to swim, and said as much to Katniss.

"Well, I do," she had said...rather defensively, I might add. "My...my Dad taught me. Before..."

I didn't press her on what "before" she was talking about.

But it got me thinking. Other than District Four, no other districts that I was aware of really spent any time around water. Knowing how to swim...or, at least, how to  _not_  drown...could be important. Even life saving.

At first, neither Haymitch nor my mysterious knife-fighting trainer, Goat Man, was very happy about this addition to my training schedule...but gradually Haymitch was forced to admit that it made sense to try to foresee the possibility of having to deal with a body of water in the arena, and Goat Man had to reluctantly admit that there wasn't much more that he could teach me anyway.

So, here I was, at the oxbow. It was fairly isolated and a safe place to practice...the current moved sluggishly, and the water was never deeper than my chest. However, unlike my other training, I would have to do this alone. Katniss would not buy for a minute that I needed to learn how to swim for another shot at that scholarship. So, I would have to go on weekends...alone.

And I only had a few weekends to train before the Reaping.

I strip down to shorts and slowly, tentatively, ease into the cold water, gasping as it rises to my thighs, then my groin, then my stomach and chest. Almost fearfully, I put my face underwater...then my entire head. At first, I can only manage a few seconds...being underwater was strange, almost alien, with every sound magnified and my vision nothing but an indistinct blur. But gradually, I get more and more comfortable.

I learn to hyperventilate before going under...charging my lungs with air, and my time underwater stretches from mere seconds to well over a minute. I learn that if I relax I will easily float, and discover that I can raise my face out of the water, take a breath, and then relax again, floating indefinitely.

I submerge myself for longer and longer periods, and eventually start to experiment with moving around under water. I get comfortable enough that I can actually swim, after a fashion, for short distances under water...kicking my legs and making wide, sweeping motions with my hands. Gradually, I learn that I can do the same thing above water, kicking and splashing noisily, barely moving forward...but moving forward just the same.

Finally, on the last Sunday before the Reaping, I manage to cross the river...all ten meters of it...on the surface, and then return by swimming under water. I no longer fear the water, I can stay under for, by my count at least, over two minutes, and I can swim...sort of.

There's a week to go before the Reaping. I'm in the best shape that I've ever been in. I can fight hand to hand, I've learned knife fighting and all sorts of dirty tricks from Goat Man, I can run at an easy pace for well over an hour, and run at a flat sprint for close to a kilometer, I can make simple snares, clean, and cook small game...and I can even swim, after a fashion.

Haymitch has upheld his end of the bargain. Once the scholarship had fallen through, he supported me at every turn. The only thing he insisted on was that I go visit my family, which I reluctantly did. At least there wasn't any screaming or fighting...my mother simply refused to speak to me...but it was almost unbearably awkward with Poppa and my brothers. I stayed for an hour, and then gratefully returned to the Village.

Haymitch suggested that I take it easy the last week before the Reaping. Even the runs with Katniss were toned down. Haymitch wanted to suspend training entirely...he didn't want me to hurt myself right before the Reaping (especially since I told him that if I did it wouldn't make any difference to me - I was still going to volunteer)...but I pointed out to him that not running anymore would make Katniss suspicious.

I didn't have to worry. Katniss grew increasingly more and more distracted the closer we came to Reaping Day. I attributed it to worry over being a Mentor for the first time. Haymitch wouldn't talk about it, and I knew better than to ask Katniss about it. It just seemed to me that she didn't mind at all that our runs were taking place at such an easy pace.

I was remarkably, surprisingly calm...even confident.  _Is this what the Careers felt like before a Reaping?_  I think...no, I  _know_...I can hold my own against them...especially in an equal playing field. And as the sun begins to set on the last Saturday before the Reaping, I'm confident that I've anticipated every contingency.

I was wrong.

**PART VI**

The night before the Reaping, I'm sitting in Haymitch's living room, trying without much luck to read a book I found in his library. In years past, I always felt nervous and anxious the night before a Reaping...but this is much worse. I keep thinking that there's something I should be doing instead of just sitting here, not reading the book in my hands...go say goodbye to my family maybe.

_Stop it,_  I say to myself. My family will come say goodbye to me afterward. But, no matter what, there's still a tiny kernel of nagging doubt in my mind. Maybe, if my name isn't called, maybe I should just take my chances...keep living with Haymitch, keep training, and next year I should be the favorite to win that scholarship, and -

_Stop it!_ Next year I'll have sixty-seven slips in the Bowl...more than probably any other Tribute Candidate in District Twelve. Is that what I want? To win that scholarship, only to be Reaped before spending so much as a day at the University? Plus, if I don't win the scholarship, and by some miracle I'm  _not_  Reaped...it's off to the mines as soon as I finish school -

A soft knock on the door brings me back to the here and now. Of course, Haymitch is nowhere in sight. I sigh, put the book down, and walk to the door.

"Who can  _this_  be?" I mutter as I reach the door. It's still too early for curfew to be enforced, so whoever is here won't have to worry about that for a while, and -

Madge and Delly are standing on the front stoop as I fling the door open. These were about the last two I expected to see. They're both looking at me with expressions of mingled sheepishness and guilt. My eyes flicker over Madge, then Delly, then back to Madge again.

"Madge...Delly," I stammer, "What are you two doing out here tonight?"

Madge gets right to the point. "We need to talk to you, Peeta. Someplace private."

I step outside and shut the door firmly behind me. "The Green," I suggest, gesturing at the lush, manicured Village Green just across the street from Haymitch's house. "We won't be...bothered there."

Madge picked up on what I wasn't saying right away. With her father being the Mayor, Madge understands oh too well about government owned building not being safe to talk in. With the two girls flanking me, we walk quickly over to the Green and settle on a pair of benches facing the direction that we just came from. I turn to the girls, a questioning look on my face.

"It's safe to talk here," I say. "So go ahead."

* * *

For a moment, neither girl says anything. It's as if, after coming this far, they suddenly can't say whatever it is that they came to say. Finally, Delly, who, up until this moment, seemed fascinated by something that she had seen on the ground between her feet, speaks.

"Marry me."

I blink, unsure if I had heard her correctly. "What did you say?"

Delly looks up at me. "I said, 'Marry me.' Or Madge. Whichever of us you prefer."

_They know._ I try to make light of what Delly has just said. "Well, this is rather sudden, don't you think? And, after all, we're still in school, and only seventeen, and -"

"Dammit, Peeta!" This outburst from Delly startled me almost as much as her proposal. "I...we don't mean now. Next year, when we're finished with school."

"Madge?" The Mayor's daughter looks up at me. "Whose idea is this? And why?"

Madge looks me squarely in the eye when she replies. "Delly and I have been talking for a while, but it was her idea originally. We just want to help, Peeta."

"Wow. And all this to keep me out of the mines?"

"Not the mines, Peeta," Delly says gently. "Madge and I aren't stupid. We know what your real plan is."

"Well, yeah," I stammer. "I was hoping for that scholarship, and -"

"And since when does a wrestling scholarship at the University of Panem require knife-fighting skills?" Madge asks archly.

_Shit._  I slump down on the bench between them. When I speak, I decide to toss aside all pretenses. They've figured it out, anyway.

"Who else knows?" I ask.

"I saw you and Goat Man right after the Reading of the Card," Delly replies. "You were down by the slag heap. I normally don't go down there, but my father sent me over to the mine offices that day to pick up an order and payment for some work boots. I saw you both then. Madge is the only one I've told."

"And you both figured that the best way to keep me around was for one of you to marry me?" I ask sarcastically.

"As a matter of fact, yes," Madge replies, ignoring my sarcasm. "We thought that, maybe, if you had a choice, that you would -"

"Would what?" I snap. "Marry you? Marry Delly? Live happily ever after, making shoes or candy?" I turn to Delly. "Delly. Look at me and tell me that you love me."

When Delly does look up, I see tears quivering on her eyelashes. "Peeta...I've known you my whole life. You're like a best friend and brother all rolled into one. Of course I love you."

"Romantically?" I ask. "Sexually? Forever, having my babies and growing old together kind of love? And how about you, Madge?"

Madge doesn't even look up. "I'm sure, if you decided you wanted to be with me, that in time we would -"

" - Hate each other," I finish gently. "Whichever one of you I married, we would end up hating each other...because it wouldn't be out of love. It would be out of convenience. Is that what either of you wanted? To end up hating me?"

"You don't know that," Delly says in a small voice.

"Two years, or five, or ten," I say firmly. "Eventually we would end up hating each other. And every time you looked at me it would remind you that you married me just to 'save' me. I would rather be dead quickly two weeks from now rather than die slowly, one day at a time, over the next twenty years." I laugh humorlessly. "Death in the mines in twenty years, or an emotional death. What a choice. Do you know what we would be in twenty or twenty-five years?" I look at both girls. "My parents. That's what we would be. Miserable, unhappy, one or both of us angry at the world."

"So your mind is made up?" Madge asks flatly.

"It has been for months," I reply softly.

"It's because of her, isn't it?" Delly asks miserably. "Katniss. We both know how you feel about her, Peeta."

I don't reply.

"I know Katniss as well as anyone, Peeta," Madge says. "How do you think she will react if you stand up and volunteer tomorrow? I'll tell you how she'll react. She'll be furious with you, that's how."

I shrug my shoulders. "I've got nothing to lose at this point...including Katniss."

Delly shakes her head sadly. "Can you just tell us one thing, Peeta?"

"What, Delly?" I ask.

Delly averts her eyes and I can see a blush color her cheeks. "Which one of us would you picked?"

I smile. "That's my secret."

Delly looks up at smiles, leans, and then leans forward and quickly kisses my cheek. "Good luck tomorrow."

Madge is kissing my other cheek before I can respond. "And may the odds be ever in your favor."

The girls have left the Village by the time I realize that I didn't say goodbye to either one. I hope that they'll come see me tomorrow...afterwards.

**PART VII**

Reaping Day.

I rise early and make Haymitch his breakfast. We eat in silence. I never mention the conversation that I had the evening before with Delly and Madge.

I catch sight of Prim, milking her goat, Lady, when I go out back to take out the trash. She smiles and waves, but stays put as she continues to milk. I wonder if I'll ever see her again, and, for the first time today, I feel the sting of tears in my eyes.

After I finish cleaning up, I sit at the kitchen table, sipping on a cup of tea, staring at the wall. Haymitch comes into the room once, and, as he passes me, he stops briefly, puts a hand on my shoulder, and says, "Kid -"

I glance up. "What?"

He stares down at me, and then I feel his hand tighten slightly on my shoulder. "Nothing. Forget it." He pats my shoulder twice, and then leaves abruptly.

Effie Trinket shows up around mid-morning, looking for Haymitch. She's as bubbly and cheerful as always, greeting me warmly, and then grabbing Haymitch and dragging him next door to Katniss's house for what she calls a "Pre-Reaping Meeting." Haymitch grumbles but goes along with her.

I'm left alone in the house. I wander down to the basement...my "room" for the past several months. I shuffle through my meager belongings...just some clothes, mostly...and I lay out what I will be wearing later on. A light colored shirt, dark slacks, and dark shoes. I know that a full wardrobe awaits me on the Tribute Train. Idly I wonder what girl will be my District Partner will be this year, and I find myself hoping for a stranger. I don't want to go into the arena with a friend.

Not too long afterward, Haymitch returns home...alone. I ask him where Effie was, and he tells me that Effie is still over at Katniss's, and that Katniss is being "difficult." I smile inwardly at this news. Katniss being "difficult?" What a surprise.

I retreat to the living room and pick up the book that I had been trying to read the night before. I settle into an overstuffed chair and open the book to the place I had left off. Half-heartedly, I begin to read. Soon, the pent-up tension inside me begins to surface, and I suddenly feel very tired. The words on the page begin swimming before my eyes. I stop reading, carefully closing the book, as I lean my head back to close my eyes.  _Just for a minute_ , I say to myself.  _Just for a -_

There's a hand on my shoulder, gently shaking me. "Kid?" I look up to see Haymitch's craggy face peering down at me. He gives me a small, crooked smile. "Hey. You fell asleep. Time to go get ready."

I rub my eyes and stand up. Haymitch tells me that he has to go now, and admonishes me not to be late. I promise to be there on time, and then go back to the basement to grab my clothes. When I come back upstairs, Haymitch is already gone.

I go upstairs, carefully brush my teeth, consider shaving but decide against it (my beard is so fine and blonde as to practically be invisible), then jump in the shower. I take a long, hot shower, and then slowly get dressed.

I examine myself one last time in the full-length mirror that Haymitch had moved into the basement for me. I've definitely bulked up from last year. Otherwise, I look just like any other seventeen-year-old ready for yet another Reaping. I go back upstairs and carefully go through the house, making sure that all lights are off and that there's no water running any place.

Finally, I'm satisfied. As I shut the front door behind me, I carefully lock it, and then drop the key into my pocket. I'll give it to Haymitch later, when we're on the Tribute Train.

I had checked the mantle clock in the living room before I left the house. I have plenty of time. No need to rush at all. I stroll through the Village, past Katniss's house...there's no activity there, so they must have already left...and through the arched entryway to the Village. Once on the road, I turn left and stroll into town. It's a beautiful day.

* * *

Once I get to the Square, everything is routine. Check in, find a place with the other seventeen-year-old boys, and wait. In spite of myself, I look around for my family. I don't see them any place, but I know that they are out there...somewhere.

I glance around at the others. All nervous and trying not to show it. I can't help but smile. If they only knew that each and every one of them was safe for yet another year. I notice a few of the boys frowning when they see me smiling. Let them wonder.

A few of the boys, mostly from the wrestling team, come up to wish me luck, and I wish them luck in return. I don't see Udo Donner or any of his friends. I do manage to catch brief glimpses of Delly and Madge. They both wave. Neither of them smiles.

Finally, just before two, the doors to the Justice Building open. Mayor Undersee and his wife emerge, followed by Effie Trinket, Haymitch Abernathy, Katniss Everdeen, and Primrose Everdeen. Prim, being exempt from the Reaping this year, will sit on the stage with the Mentors and the Escort. Next year, of course, she will be back standing among the rest of the fourteen year old girls.

Exactly at two o'clock, Mayor Undersee steps forward, and, in a tired voice, reads the history of Panem. It's a story that we all know by heart...but one that he is required to read anyway. I don't pay any attention. Instead, I focus on Haymitch, Katniss and Prim. Haymitch is scowling...after all; he's the only one on that stage that knows what is about to happen. Katniss looks bored by it all...she examines her fingernails intently at one point during the Mayor's speech. Prim just looks uncomfortable. By sitting on the stage she reminds everyone that her name is not anywhere in the Girls' Reaping Bowl.

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," Mayor Undersee solemnly recites. He then reads off the list of past District Twelve Victors, now grown to three names. This year, however, instead of the stony silence that normally greets the Mayor at this time, there's genuine, enthusiastic applause when the names Haymitch Abernathy and Katniss Everdeen are recited. This causes Haymitch to scowl even more, while Katniss just looks startled by the sudden focus of attention on her. They both manage to wave to the crowd, though.

Mayor Undersee then introduces the District Twelve Escort, Effie Trinket. This year, she's dressed all in gold...from her wig all the way to her high heels. Even her skin shines with a definite golden tone. This was something that she must have done after meeting with Haymitch and Katniss earlier. Then, she had been dressed in a much more muted style...earth tones with a light brown wig.

"Happy Hunger Games!" Effie says in her trademark trill. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

The odds are most definitely in the boys' favor this year.

"I am so honored to be here once again!" Effie continues. "Not only to honor the Third Quarter Quell...but also, your latest Victor, Katniss Everdeen!" Polite applause this time. "And now, as always...ladies first!"

Effie crosses over to the Girls' Reaping Ball, digs her hand in deep, and fishes out a Slip. Clutching the paper in her hand, she crosses back over to the podium, opens the paper with a flourish, and reads the name into the microphone.

"Gamma Churchill!"

Who? I glance over at the girls' side and see a flurry of activity coming from the area where the sixteen-year-old girls are assembled. Four Peacekeepers converge on a solitary figure, dressed in a shapeless, drab, gray dress that I recognize as standard Community Home issue. I can see that the girl is thin, of medium height, and obviously of Seam origin, if her black hair and olive skin are any indication.

The Peacekeepers form a square around the dispirited girl as they escort her to the stage. Her shoulders slumped forward; she dejectedly climbs the steps to the stage, where Effie guides her to her spot to the right of the microphone.

"And are there any volunteers?" Effie asks. It's a formality. No one is going to volunteer for this pathetic Community Home girl.

"Wonderful!" Effie continues. Behind her, Katniss shifts in her chair. I can almost see her roll her eyes. "Let's hear it for District Twelve's female Tribute!"

There is a bare smattering of applause, and an almost palpable feeling of relief rising from the girls' side. Every family in the district that had girls would celebrate tonight. No one would miss Gamma. Orphans are never missed.

"And now, we choose the boy Tribute!" Effie strides over to the Boys' Bowl, digs her hand in, swirls it around twice, and extracts a slip of paper. I'm in there over thirty times. How ironic it would be if she actually drew my name.  _At least Katniss wouldn't be angry with me. The odds simply would not have been in my favor._

Effie strides back to the microphone, opens the paper, and reads it in a clear, firm voice.

"Udo Donner!"

Dead silence. I glance around, looking for him. He has to be someplace in my area.

"Udo Donner!" Effie repeats. "Come on up, dear!"

I can see Peacekeepers heading toward the boys' side, their faces grim. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes they are forced to go into the crowd and drag the Tribute out physically.

I hear voices to my left and slightly in front of me. "Udo, come on!" "Udo, you gotta go!" "Come on, Udo, before the Peacekeepers come in here and drag you out!" There's a flurry of activity in front of me as a crowd of boys hustles Udo Donner towards the waiting Peacekeepers. I can't see him very well, but as he passes a couple of rows in front of me the smell is unmistakable.

Udo Donner, who has caused me nothing but problems over the past year, has shit his pants.

A couple of boys shove him bodily toward the waiting Peacekeepers, who immediately close ranks around him and escort him toward the stage. I catch a brief glimpse of his face and see with satisfaction the tear tracks running down each cheek. As I watch him walk slowly toward the stage, one word keeps going through my head.

Retribution.

Udo knows he has zero chance. Udo knows that his life span can now be measured in days...weeks if he's lucky. And Udo knows that his death will most likely be bloody, excruciatingly painful, and, if he's unlucky enough to be caught by a Career, slow and drawn out.

For a moment I'm tempted...tempted to let him go to his just punishment. Let him face his retribution. I watch as he climbs the steps to the stage slowly, as if he's mounting a gallows. I see Effie make a face as the smell hits her. But, she is ever the consummate professional. She guides him to his place opposite of where Gamma is standing. I can clearly see Gamma make a face as the noxious odor hits her nose as well. And, as Effie turns Udo to face the crowd, I can see an unmistakable stain on the front of his pants as well.

Not only has Udo shit his pants...he's pissed himself as well.

Once it becomes apparent that Udo has completely lost control of himself, there is a small ripple of laughter that surges through the crowd. Udo Donner has never been well liked here, and many people...myself included...were reveling in his very public shame.

"Now, before we continue," Effie says, "are there any volunteers for this...brave...young man?"

For a split second, I hesitate. But then, a phrase that I read in one of Haymitch's books comes back to me...and I know exactly what I must do.

_A coward dies a thousand times before his death, but the valiant taste of death but once._

Udo is the coward. I am the valiant. I step out of the crowd, feeling the eyes of Madge, Delly, and Haymitch boring into me. A quick glance at the stage reveals Katniss's face registering confusion. A group of Peacekeepers looks at me in surprise. I stop halfway between the boys' and the girls' sides, face the stage, and speak four words.

"I volunteer as Tribute!"

* * *

The silence is deafening.

I don't wait for my Peacekeeper escort. I begin to stride toward the stage in long, confident steps. The Peacekeepers have to scramble to catch up with me. When I hear them closing I don't even break stride, but glance behind me and snap, "I know the way."

I note with satisfaction that one of the Peacekeepers is Bellatrix Breccia.

On the stage, Effie quickly manages to compose herself, although she's obviously confused and unprepared for this turn of events. "Well, uhh...I do believe we have yet  _another_  District Twelve Volunteer!" She pauses as I mount the stage, practically skipping up the steps. Udo is staring at me, a look of pure confusion...and relief...on his face. Haymitch and Prim both look upset. Katniss is glaring at me. I ignore them all, brushing past Udo and wrinkling my nose as the stench hits me. I turn and face the crowd, arms crossed over my chest; legs shoulder width apart, my face expressionless.

Effie turns to me. "I believe you were Reaped last year, isn't that right, dear?" She knows damn well that I was...she's just reminding the rest of Panem that this is not my first time on this stage.

"Yes, ma'am," I reply. "I was."

"And your name is -" Effie prompts.

"Peeta Mellark."

"And I'm sure we all would like to know your motivation for volunteering," Effie continues.

"Let's just say that I have something to prove," I reply. "To everyone here. And nothing to lose. And, just so everyone's clear, I was not paid to volunteer."

At this there's a slight gasp from the crowd. Everyone has heard the story. I doubt if anyone thought that I would bring it up.

"And what is your relation to Udo Donner, Peeta?" Effie asks.

"Him?" I glance at Udo, now cowering behind Effie, Gamma and me. "He's nothing." I pause. "To me."

"Well!" Effie says. "So much excitement for a second straight year! Let's hear it for Peeta Mellark, everyone...District Twelve's newest Tribute!"

No one applauds. At least not right away. I stand on the stage, impassively staring out at the crowd...at this town that had condemned me based on rumor, had turned its back on me more than once, had watched me get flogged for a crime that I didn't commit...as the enormity of my actions slowly sink in to everyone present. And then, it starts.

It comes from the girls' section first...a single girl, quickly joined by another. I find them in the crowd easily enough. Delly and Madge are clapping rhythmically, chanting "Pee-ta. Pee-ta. Pee-ta," in time with their clapping hands. Tears are streaming down their faces as they chant. The chant quickly spreads as more and more people take it up.

The Peacekeepers stir uneasily, forming a phalanx in front of the stage. Dozens are now chanting...then hundreds. Peacekeepers appear on stage behind Gamma and I, quickly hustling us into the Justice Building. Their route takes me right past Katniss. She glares at me a final time before I disappear into the building, and, even above the chanting and clapping, I hear her quite clearly.

"You fucking  _liar!_ " she hisses.

I'm practically shoved into the small room where, for an hour, I will receive visitors. The chanting swells to a deafening roar.

"PEE-TA! PEE-TA! PEE-TA! PEE-TA!"

I allow myself a small smile that quickly fades. It appears that, at last, I've received some sort of vindication.

But, I have a feeling that the price that I will have to pay for it will be much too high.

* * *

Visiting Hour.

The chanting died away quickly once I was inside the Justice Building. By the time my first visitors arrive, the Square is quiet once again.

The door opens and my family comes in. Poppa, mother, and my brothers. I glance at them, and then deliberately turn my back.

I hear Poppa speak. "Son...Peeta. Why did -"

"Get out." My voice is cold.

"Please, son...if you would just -"

"I said, get out." I practically spit the words.

"How dare you speak to your father that way?" My mothers' voice cuts in. "Who do you think -"

"Shut your mouth," I snap. "Just shut up! Shut up and get out!"

Silence, followed by the sound of rustling paper. I still don't turn around. I hear the door open. "Take those with you," I order. "Give them to Gamma instead. I want nothing from you."

There's a brief pause, then the sound of a choked sob before the door closes softly. Only then do I allow my own tears to come.

I'm still crying when Madge and Delly come in. None of us says much in the next five minutes. We're all crying too hard.

I manage to compose myself before I get my next visitor. Coach comes in and spends an awkward five minutes giving me wrestling advice, should I find myself in the arena in a hand to hand combat situation. I thank him for everything and apologize for not getting that scholarship that we had both worked so hard to get.

It's a good thing that visits are limited to only five minutes. I could have easily started to cry again.

I do start to cry again when my next visitors arrive. Hazelle Hawthorne, with Rory, Vic and Posy. Again, we didn't say much, although I did get a choked "thank you" from Rory. It was the first time he had spoken to me since his flogging. Hazelle didn't say much either, until it was time for them to leave. She pulled me into an embrace and said, "Gale would be right proud to call you friend right now."

Mrs. Everdeen came in next, looking confused. I tried to explain to her why I did what I felt I had to do, but I think I came up short...or maybe, now that reality is setting in, my reasons for volunteering don't sound as good as they did an hour ago.

My last visitor was Prim. She entered the room and immediately hugged me tightly, then pulled back and said, "I'm really getting tired of making these visits."

I nod, wiping my eyes. "I know. I'm sorry."

Prim examines me closely. "You've been crying," she says. It's not a question.

I shrug my shoulders and smile sheepishly. "Yeah," I admit. "I have."

Prim smiles. "Good," she says. "That means that there's a lot of the old Peeta left inside you."

I change the subject. "Did you see Katniss?"

Prim sighs heavily. "I did," she replies. "It might be a good idea for you to stay away from her for a while."

"Pretty mad, huh?" I ask, feeling my heart sink.  _If I could only make her understand why!_

"She said, and I quote, 'A quick death in the bloodbath is too good for that lying sack of shit,' unquote."

"Prim, don't let your mother hear you talk like that," I admonish her with a smile.

Prim isn't smiling. "Peeta, she only said that because you hurt her." She pauses for a moment. "She...she wouldn't have said that if she didn't at least like you a little bit."

Here I am, about to go into the Hunger Games, and I feel a thrill when a thirteen-year-old girl tells me that her sister likes me. I try to keep my face impassive when I say, "Okay. Good advice. I'll stay away from her for a while."

"Good," Prim says. A sharp rap on the door indicates that our time is almost up. Prim hugs me again, kisses my cheek, and whispers, "Be careful. And...stay alive." The door opens, a Peacekeeper beckons, and then she's gone.

Prim was my last visitor. Aside from my father, Gamma had no visitors. Effie comes in shortly after Prim leaves and hustles us into the car waiting to take us to the train station.

The ride is short and silent. I'm not very impressed with my District Partner. Gamma is skinny, with thin arms and legs, and privately I guess that she probably won't make it past the bloodbath.

Once at the train station, Effie shepherds us out of the car and into the Tribute Train. In spite of myself, my eyes widen at the luxury that I see before me, and Gamma gasps audibly at the incredible opulence laid out before us. I can see her eying the trays of food that seem to be everywhere, and glance down at her hands. I see that they're empty. She probably ate both packages of cookies while we were still in the Justice Building.

Effie, Gamma and I step into the car as Effie explains that the entire train is at our disposal. I hear the door hiss shut behind us. I turn to Effie.

"Where are Haymitch and Katniss?" I ask.

"They boarded quite some time ago," Effie replies. "They're probably still getting settled in...as you two should do. I'll show you to your rooms. Your clothing sizes were radioed ahead and each of you will find suitable clothing in your rooms. Why don't you two take an hour to get cleaned up and changed? Haymitch and Katniss should be available by then to answer any questions that you may have, and...oh, my goodness!"

I frown. "What?"

"Well," Effie says, "In the confusion and noise from all that chanting back in the Square, we didn't have you two shake hands! It's customary! All right, you two...let's do this right! Go on...shake hands!"

I turn toward Gamma. She's regarding me with the same impassive look that I've come to associate with Katniss. I stick my hand out toward her, and she quickly takes it in her own, squeezing once before letting go. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

"Good luck," I murmur.

"Yeah," she mutters. "You too."

"Well!" Effie says. "I'm going to check in with Haymitch. Why don't you two get cleaned up and -"

"Can I get something to eat first?" Gamma asks impatiently.

Effie looks startled. "Well...of course you can, dear! This train is all for you, you know!"

But Gamma isn't listening. Instead, she's grabbed a plate and is piling it high with food. Effie looks at her, then back at me, shrugs her shoulders, and then leaves us alone. It was then that I notice that the train is moving...and is already moving fast. I didn't even feel it start to move.

I turn back to Gamma, intending on telling her that I was going to get cleaned up and changed before eating anything...when I see Gamma's eyes narrow.

I glance at her plate, then back up to her rather plain, thin face. She scowls. "And just what the  _fuck_  are you looking at, Townie?" She snaps.

"Uhh...nothing. Sorry," I stammer. "I'm going to get cleaned up and changed. I'll, uhh, see you in a bit."

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Gamma says around a mouthful of chocolate cake. I almost warn her not to eat too quickly, and then decide against it.  _If she pukes it all up, she'll remember for next time._

It was only then that I realize that I have absolutely no idea how to find my room. I stop the first Capitol attendant I see, who quickly puts me on the right track. As I make my way to my room, two thoughts cross my mind.

_I think there's more to Gamma than meets the eye. She's stronger than she looks. We'll see how things go on the train...but I just may have found an ally. She just doesn't know it yet._

And, my second thought as I close the door to my room behind me:

_I'm here. There's no turning back. Let the Games begin._


	13. Chapter 13

**BOOK V - PENANCE**

**Penance - Voluntary Self-Punishment inflicted as an outward expression or repentance for having done wrong**

**CHAPTER 13**

**PART I**

I sit in what the Capitol attendant referred to as the lounge car, staring out at the landscape that's whizzing by at over three hundred kilometers an hour. I've never even been on the other side of the boundary fence in Twelve before today.

The train is heading in the direction of the setting sun, with the late afternoon shadows lengthening with each passing minute. We've left the familiar behind...the mountains and forests that surround District Twelve have given way to this gently rolling landscape, broken every so often by isolated clumps of trees and other vegetation, as well as amazingly ordered groups of strange mounds rising seemingly at random. I had missed the transition from Twelve to...wherever this is. I had been in my room, showering, cleaning up, and changing clothes. I find myself hoping that I don't miss the transition on the return trip.

I hear the door hiss open, and then slide shut behind me. I don't turn around. It has to be Haymitch, Katniss, Effie, or Gamma...and the only one that I really want to see right now is Katniss, and I doubt that she would be seeking me out anyway.

"Homesick already?" A familiar, feminine voice says softly. I jerk upright and spin my seat around, my eyes going wide in shock, and, I admit, pleased surprise. I leap to my feet as the woman takes four long strides towards me and envelopes me in her arms.

It's Cressida.

I pull back from her, looking at perhaps the only friendly, neutral face on this entire train. "What are you doing here?" I ask breathlessly.

Cressida arches her eyebrow and favors me with a little half-grin. "I could ask you the same question, you know," she points out, "although I really can't say I'm shocked. Disappointed, maybe...but shocked...no."

"It...it's a long story," I stammer. I turn, grabbing her hand and leading her to the group of chairs that I just vacated. "Come on, sit down," I insist. I somewhat clumsily plop down in my chair as Cressida gracefully settles into one directly opposite mine.

I look her in the eye, still amazed at her presence. "Okay, Cressida," I say insistently, "once more...what are you doing here?"

Cressida sighs and shifts around in the chair, crossing her slender legs with a single, elegant motion. "It's the Quell," she explains simply. "The network wanted coverage of Katniss's first time out as a Mentor, especially since her partner is the Second Quarter Quell Victor." She pauses for a moment, staring out the window, before continuing. "I...we developed a special...bond, during her Victory Tour. She trusts me, so here I am. And, you, young man," she says with a playful, yet sad, smile, "you were the figurative icing on the cake...volunteering the way you did."

"So you'll be filming Katniss?" I ask, blushing a bit from her smile...and wondering why it was affecting me the way it was.

"Katniss, Haymitch, you, the other Tribute...Gamma?" I nod. "Gamma, Effie...you name it, we'll be there...the whole crew...Messalla, Castor, Pollux, and me...trying to be invisible and at the same time capture every aspect of Katniss's initial Games as a Mentor."

"As long as you turn the cameras off whenever I tell you to," Haymitch says. I jump a little...I didn't even hear him come in. He's standing not two meters from us, clutching a glass of something dark and smoky. He looks me up and down, grins, and gives me a thumbs up. "Nice clothes, kid," he says. "You clean up well."

"Haymitch, I promise that we won't interfere with any training, or record any of your strategy sessions," Cressida says sincerely.

Haymitch nods as he lowers himself into the seat opposite both Cressida and I. He raises his glass toward the window. "Pretty dull, huh, kid?"

I shrug. "It's a lot different than home. Any idea where we are?"

"The Badlands," Haymitch replies with a grin. "We're actually between districts right now. District Six is off that-a-way -" he waves his hand toward the window that I've been staring out of "- and District Eleven is behind me." He jerks his thumb over his right shoulder. "With luck, it'll still be light when we cross the Great River. Now  _that's_  a sight!"

I point out the window as we pass yet another collection of those strange, orderly mounds. "Do you have any idea what those are, Haymitch?"

Haymitch's mood suddenly turns somber. "Yeah, I do, kid. Yeah, I do. Those are buildings...or, rather, what's left of buildings...even whole towns and villages. Those are all that's left of the people that lived out here before the Catastrophes."

I feel a sudden chill as I realize that I'm looking at collections of graveyards...places that were once thriving communities, destroyed when the Catastrophes overtook this part of the land. Idly I wonder what life was like back in the days before the Catastrophes...when Panem was known as North America, and the Hunger Games wouldn't exist for hundreds of years.

The door hisses open before I can respond to Haymitch's last comment. Effie bustles in, looking frazzled. Haymitch had told me on more than one occassion that Effie gets more and more stressed the closer the Games get. Looking at her I can well believe it.

"Has anyone...oh, hello Cressida," Effie says distractedly. Cressida inclines her head and replies, "Effie."

"Pardon the interruption," Effie huffs, "but as anyone seen Katniss or Gamma?"

"They're both in their rooms...I think," I reply.

"Well!" Effie says. "Dinner will be served shortly, and then we need to watch the Reaping recaps, and you said something about a strategy meeting, Haymitch?"

"Yeah," Haymitch replies lazily, then looks at Cressida. "Sorry, Duchess. You're not invited to the meeting. No offense."

"None taken," Cressida says smoothly.

"I need to get both those girls moving!" Effie says. "I'll see you all at dinner!"

"I wouldn't count on Gamma for dinner," Haymitch says with a grin after Effie leaves. "She's in her room all right...spent a good fifteen minutes puking her guts out after stuffing her pie hole with, well, pie. I doubt if she'll be wanting much dinner."

I sit, my jaw clenched in anger. Even though I didn't even know Gamma, the poor girl couldn't help wanting to eat herself sick. She's never had enough to eat her entire life. The only thing that keeps me from saying anything to Haymitch was my knowledge that he was a product of the Seam as well, and had more than his share of "Hollow Days" while growing up.

"I'm going to see about Katniss," Cressida says suddenly, standing up in a single, fluid motion. "I'll see you boys at dinner." Haymitch and I watch Cressida walk out of the car, with Haymitch offering up a long, low whistle once Cressida is safely out of earshot.

"I have to admit," Haymitch says softly, "I usually don't go in for Capitol women...too much flash, too little substance, if you ask me...but  _that_ one is one in a million."

In spite of my feelings for Katniss, I had to agree.

Haymitch snaps out of his reverie and turns toward me, all business again. "Okay, kid," he says, "first things first. We can talk freely here... _and_  in the Penthouse at the Training Center. No bugs."

I frown. "Wait a minute," I reply. "I distinctly remember you telling me -"

Haymitch nods impatiently. "Yeah, I did. But trust me on this." He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small rectangular object, about the same size and shape as a deck of playing cards. "This little jewel will confirm what I've just told you." He presses a button on the side and a red light begins blinking rhythmically before changing color to a steady green. Haymitch smiles in satisfaction as he turns the device off and pockets it.

"See?" He pats his pocket. "All clear."

"Wait a minute," I say. "What exactly was that thing?"

"It's a bug detector," Haymitch explains. "It has a fifteen meter range. If someone were snooping on us electronically I would've gotten a solid red light. Green is the clear signal."

"How did you get a hold of it?" I ask.

"I got it from...never mind where I got it," Haymitch says impatiently. "Suffice to say a friend gave it to me."

I still wasn't satisfied. "Why aren't the Tribute Trains and the...what did you call it? The 'Penthouse?' Why aren't they bugged?"

"Oh, they used to be," Haymitch explained. "But the Capitol stopped years ago, when they found out that some crooked comm techs were selling strategy conversations to certain Mentors. Needless to say, this didn't sit well with the majority of Mentors, so they pressured the Capitol into stopping the practice." Haymitch pauses for a moment. "Capitolites are funny. They know that being bugged is a part of life, and they ignore it...until they feel that it threatens the 'sanctity' of 'their' Games. That's what made the Capitol back down...they didn't want bad publicity and the loss in sponsor revenue if Sponsors pulled out because they thought the Games were rigged. So feel free to talk here...except if a Capitol attendant is present."

I nod in understanding, but I still had one question. "What's the 'Penthouse?'"

Haymitch laughs. "The Twelfth Floor of the Training Center. That's where we will be staying. Each district gets a floor corresponding to their district number. Effie started calling it the Penthouse when she became our Escort. That's what top floor hotel rooms and apartments are called...the 'Penthouse.'"

At that moment Effie returns, practically dragging Gamma behind her. I see that Gamma has cleaned up and changed also...wearing sandals, loose fitting silk pants, and an expensive looking sleeveless top. She's still wearing the same scowl that she wore earlier, though.

"Oh, good," Haymitch says laconically when he sees Effie and Gamma. "So glad you decided to join us, Darlin'. Please, have a seat." Gamma glares at Haymitch and reluctantly sits down. Haymitch waves Effie into a seat as well. "You, too, Princess. You're in on this too."

Once Effie was seated, Haymitch begins. "I'll keep this short so we can go get dinner and watch the Reaping recaps. It seems that the vast majority of the Capitol...read, the Sponsors... _hates_  the 'no sponsor' rule for this Quell, and a lot of pressure has been put on both President Snow and the Gamemakers to discard it...which, of course, they can't do. But, the Assistant Head Gamemaker, Plutarch Heavensbee, has found a loophole that will allow all those rich Capitol Sponsors to spend their money...and help out their chosen Tributes in return."

"So how can sponsors help if you can't send us gifts?" I ask.

"Feasts," Haymitch says. "Usually there's only a single Feast during any particular Games. With this one, however, there will be a Feast every day...and the only items that will be available during the Feasts will be whatever Sponsor gifts have been purchased since the last Feast, so there may be food, water, weapons, or survival supplies, all neatly packaged into backpacks...or other packaging, if the item or items are too large...labeled with the district number that they're intended for."

"But that means that we still won't be able to get immediate help if we need it," I say.

Haymitch shakes his head. "No. No silver parachutes in these Games. Which means that I'm going to have to try to anticipate what you'll need, so things will be a little...generic."

Gamma speaks for the first time. "You said ' _I'm_  going to have to anticipate,' not ' _We'll_  have to anticipate.' Ain't Katniss helping you out with this?"

Haymitch actually looks flustered. "Well, uhh...yeah, that's what I meant, Gemmy. I meant  _we_."

Gamma glares at Haymitch. "It's  _Gamma_ , you fucking rummy!"

At this Effie looks shocked. "Gamma!  _Language!_ "

Gamma shoots Effie a contemptuous look. "Oh, fuck off, you ridiculous peacock." Gamma then jumps to her feet. "Are we done here? I'm hungry."

Haymitch looks at Effie and I with a bemused expression. "Yeah, I think we're done for now,  _Gamma_ ," he pronounces her name carefully, and then stands up. "I think we can all use a little dinner."

Gamma doesn't wait for us, but instead turns and flounces out of the lounge car toward the dining car. As Haymitch brushes by me he mutters, "Thousands of Slips in the Bowl and Effie had to draw  _hers_."

I was reluctantly forced to agree.

**PART II**

Katniss joins us for dinner only after Effie sends an attendant to her room to fetch her. Even so, she sits down ten minutes after the rest of us.

"Katniss," Effie says with a smile, "I ordered your favorite for this dinner. Lamb stew with dried plums."

Katniss glances at Effie, her face impassive at first, then a ghost of a smile flits over her features. "Thank...thank you, Effie."

I'm seated next to Gamma. Haymitch is directly across from me, and Katniss is seated across from Gamma. Effie is seated at what I think of as the head of the table, nearest Katniss and Gamma. Cressida and her crew are seated discreetly at another, slightly smaller table.

Conversation during dinner is muted and, thankfully, neutral, with very little mention of the Games. There were a few tense moments, though, when Effie tried to teach a few basic table manners to Gamma, who seemed to be trying to set some sort of record for the most food crammed onto a single plate. So much for the theory that Haymitch had about her not having much of an appetite.

"Gamma, dear," Effie is saying patiently, "if a cut of meat is too large to eat in a single bite, we don't pick it up in our hands, bite off a piece, and then set the rest on the table. We use our knife and fork to cut a manageable piece off, like so." Effie picks up her own knife and fork to demonstrate how to effectively use both utensils. "See?" she says, carefully laying down her utensils after cutting a small piece of lamb into two bite-sized chunks. "Now you try."

Gamma glowers at her plate, her face flushed red with embarrassment, or anger, or both. She glares at Effie, then, very deliberately, picks up the piece of lamb that she laid on the tablecloth, pops it in her mouth, chews noisily, and wipes her fingers on the tablecloth.

Effie looks aghast. I glance at Haymitch, who's trying without much success to stifle a smile, then at Katniss, who's covering her mouth with her hand to hide her grin. I sit and wonder what they are finding so funny.

"Remind you of someone?" Katniss asks Haymitch.

"Oh, yes," Haymitch replies, his grin widening.

Effie gives them both a look of pure exasperation. "Honestly, you two -"

"Think it's funny?" Gamma snaps, eyes blazing at Katniss, before she turns her fury back to Effie. "And I ain't got no reason to use a knife and fork because we ain't got any knife and fork in the Home! Ain't got no fancy plates like these, either! We eat off metal trays and they give us spoons 'cause we ain't never got nothin' what needs cuttin'!" Gamma jumps to her feet, by this time practically shouting at Effie. "So if you don't like how I eat, then go fuck yourself, Peacock!"

We all watch in stunned silence as Gamma storms out of the dining car. Effie looks like she's ready to cry, Katniss looks shocked, and Haymitch looks like he desperately wants a stiff drink. Finally, Katniss reluctantly rises from her chair.

"I'll go talk to her," she says quietly. "After all, she's my Tribute."

"No," I say as I rise to my feet. "I'll go." Katniss, Haymitch and Effie all look at me in amazement. "After all," I point out, "I'm the only one that she hasn't yelled at yet."

I quickly follow Gamma before anyone has a chance to object.

* * *

Gamma wasn't hard to find. She's sitting in the lounge car, staring morosely out the window as the train speeds down the tracks...every second bringing us nearer to the Capitol. She doesn't look up at the sound of the door opening, but instead takes another bite from the cinnamon roll that she's working on.

Without a word, I take a seat opposite her and lean back in my chair, looking at her intently. At first, she steadfastly ignores me, concentrating instead on the roll in her hand. She eats it noisily, smacking her lips and making a show of licking the frosting off her fingers. Still, I say nothing.

Gamma finally can't stand it anymore. She swivels her head toward me, her eyes narrow slits as she glares at me. "What the  _fuck_  are you staring at, Townie?"

"Not at  _you_ ," I reply with a smirk. "At your shoulders."

I see her frown, obviously confused by my remark. "Huh?"

"I can't decide," I continue, "on exactly where that big-ass chip is."

"Make sense, Townie," she snarls. "What fuckin' chip are you talkin' about?"

"You know," I say with a smile. "The chip on your shoulder that you've had ever since Reaping."

Gamma slowly turns away from me. "Fuck you," she says tiredly.

"That's your answer for everything, isn't it?" I ask. She doesn't reply. "I know that growing up in the Home is rough -"

"Spare me, Townie!" Gamma snaps. "You don't know what tough is! Do you know what it's like to go to bed hungry every night? To sleep in a room with nineteen other girls? To have to fight for every little scrap of food that comes your way? Huh? Did you lose both  _your_  parents when you were ten? Did you watch your little brother die from the flu? And who gives a fuck if I know how to use a knife and fork? That stupid, strutting Peacock woman?"

I shift seats so that I'm sitting across from her. "Give me your hand," I say softly.

"What?" Gamma looks at me incredulously. "No!"

"Yes," I insist. "Look, I want to show you something. Come on."

Gamma watches me intently, the distrust evident in her eyes. "Then show me," she says. "You don't need my hand for that."

"You can't really see what I want to show you," I explain. "Look, it's not bad...or dirty." I reach out. "Come on. One time."

Reluctantly, Gamma extends her hand. I take her thin, callused, work roughened fingers in mine and guide her hand to the left side of my head, pressing her fingers to the scalp just behind the hairline.

"Feel that?" I ask.

Her fingers probe tentatively. "This lump?"

"Yeah," I reply. "And the scar."

"I feel it," she says, pulling her hand back. "I have worse. What's your point?"

"Did your mother give you any of yours?" I ask flatly.

Gamma frowns, then her eyes widen slightly as understanding sinks in. "Your mother did that?"

I nod. "She swung a rolling pin at me. She didn't catch me full on."

"Why?" Gamma asks.

I take a deep breath before replying. "A little more than six years ago, I burned two loaves of bread. That's why." I pause for a moment. "Did your mother ever hit you?"

Gamma shakes her head. "Not like that. She maybe swatted my ass if I sassed her, but that's it."

"Did your mother...love you?" I ask.

Gamma gives me another incredulous look and shakes her head. "What kind of stupid fucking question is that? Of course she did."

"I don't know what that's like," I say softly. "I do know what it's like to get beaten for everything...and even sometimes when I did nothing wrong."

I stand up and strip my shirt off over my head and face away from Gamma. I hear her soft gasp when she sees my scarred back.

"So, you have scars," I say. "Can you top these?" She says nothing. I pull my shirt back on, then turn around and sit down again.

"You've had a hard life," I say. "And you've suffered. But don't think that your brand of pain and suffering is the only kind there is."

Gamma sighs. "Okay, you made your point. Is that why you came in here?"

"No," I reply. "Gamma, I know you don't want to be here. And, let's be honest...you and I are probably gonna be dead in a few weeks." Her lips press in a thin line as I say this. "And it's hard to be nice to people that don't have to go through what we have to go through. But you have to ask yourself something. You have to ask yourself if you want to spend your last weeks pissed off and hating everyone or not. Because getting along with people that are doing everything that they can to help you...and yeah, that includes Effie giving you a lesson in table manners...is gonna make what little life you have left easier for you."

"Easy for you to say," she replies. "You  _asked_  for this shit." She looks at me intently. "And, since we're bein' so fuckin' honest, I wanna know  _why_."

I return her gaze with my own steady stare. "Maybe...maybe I have something to prove."

Gamma snorts in derision. "By dyin'?"

I feel a chill pass through me as her words register.  _Dying_. Yes, there was a very real possibility that I was going to die. I was going to fight as hard as I could to not let that happen, even though the odds were definitely not in my favor...even with the months of training that I've put in. But I did have something to prove...to my family, to District Twelve, to Katniss...especially to Katniss, even though she hasn't said a word to me directly since the Reaping...and, perhaps most importantly...to myself.

"If I die," I reply slowly, "I'll be as me.  _Me_! Peeta Mellark, of District Twelve.  _Not_  Peeta Mellark, baker's son, or Peeta Mellark, accused cheat. Not even Peeta Mellark, volunteered Tribute. I want to die as myself."

Gamma looked like she was going to respond, but the sound of the door hissing open and the appearance of a Capitol attendant gives her pause.

"Excuse me," the man says respectfully, "but Mr. Abernathy has requested that you both join him and the others in the dining car for the Reaping Recaps."

"Okay," I say. "Thank you." I stand and turn to Gamma. "Let's go check out the competition."

**PART III**

"Forget the others," Haymitch is saying as he gestures to the holo projection behind him. "These are the six you have to watch out for."

We've just finished watching the Reaping Recaps. Haymitch has frozen the images of six Tributes and has placed them all on the projection. The faces that stare back at me are all older Tributes, each of them at least seventeen, and they all possess the same look of cocky self-confidence. They are from Districts One, Two and Four.

I'm looking at this years' Career Pack.

"What about the boy from Nine?" Effie asks. "He looks pretty strong."

"Who? 'Bud?'" Haymitch replies. "Point taken, Princess. Okay, you two. Don't turn your back on 'Bud.' But remember, he's not the threat that these others are.

"Why do you call him 'Bud?'" I find myself asking.

"That's what he is, kid," Haymitch replies with a smirk. "Big, Ugly, and Dumb...'Bud' for short."

I think back to the Reapings. The boy from Nine, on first impressions, seemed to fit Haymitch's nickname perfectly. He was big...the largest Tribute in these Games by far, whose plain-featured face was further ravaged by a runaway case of acne. And, the few words that he had spoken were delivered in a slow, deliberate drawl. But for some reason, I seem to think that there's more to 'Bud' than meets the eye.

"Okay, let's get back to these six," Haymitch says impatiently. "And, as Effie is fond of saying, 'Ladies first.'" Haymitch steps out of the way and taps a small, hand-held control box in his hand. The picture of the girl from District One swells until it fills the entire projection.

"Aurora Chamberlain," Haymitch says. Unlike many from District One, her hair is jet black, which stands in contrast to her brilliant blue eyes. She's tall, athletic, and beautiful. "Eighteen years old. Volunteer, of course, as all six are. This may interest you, Sweetheart." Haymitch pauses as he turns toward Katniss. "Cashmere was talking this one up last year when she saw how good you were with your bow. Apparently, you have an equal when it comes to archery skills."

Katniss gives a noncommittal grunt and crosses her arms over her chest in response. Her face remains an impassive mask.

I examine Aurora more closely. If she's as good with a bow as Katniss is, she could very well be the main threat.

Haymitch taps the control box again, and that of the District Two girl replaces Aurora's picture. "Lupa Stonehenge," Haymitch is saying. "Also eighteen. District Two." The face that sneers down at us is of a ruddy-faced girl, heavily freckled, with short, spiky, auburn colored hair and green eyes. She seems to be of medium height but appears well muscled, if her broad shoulders are any indication. It may just be my imagination, but I swear I can detect cruelness in her eyes and in the set of her mouth.

"I don't have any information about her," Haymitch says, "other than what we see here. I'll try to find out more about her once we reach the Capitol, but don't hold your breath. The District Two Mentors are notoriously closed-mouthed about their Tributes before the Games start."

Another tap of the control box, and Lupa's face fades away to be replaced by a dark-haired, almond-eyed, exotic looking girl. "Thalassa Akioshi," Haymitch says. "Seventeen years old. District Four." I notice that she seems to be very small...even smaller than Katniss had been the year before.

"And now for the boys," Haymitch says. "Starting with Thalassa's District Partner, Ishmael Brennan." Thalassa's face fades away, to be replaced by a tan boy with long brown hair and an open, friendly face. "Eighteen years old."

"The last two don't look so bad," Gamma remarks.

"No?" Haymitch says. "Well, keep this in mind. They're both from District Four, so you can bet that they can swim like fish. They both stepped forward and volunteered without hesitation. And never underestimate what a small girl can do." Haymitch looks pointedly at Katniss as he says this.

"Lexus Alexander," Haymitch continues. "District Two." A tall, muscular, grim faced boy appears on the projection. "Eighteen years old. So eager to volunteer that he didn't wait for the District Two Escort to finish reading the name of the Reaped Tribute before volunteering."

"And, last, but certainly not least," Haymitch says as the image of Lexus Alexander fades, "I give you Silver Collinwood of District One." A tall, muscular, blonde boy appears on the projection, his handsome, smiling face brimming with confidence. "He's eighteen." Haymitch turns and faces us. "Last year the District Two pair, Cato and Clove, were the most lethal. I have a feeling that this year District One will take those honors."

"Because of Aurora?" I ask.

"In part," Haymitch replies. "I want you all to watch something." He quickly replays each of the Career Tributes volunteering and taking the stage. "District Two didn't even look at each other until the end. District Four, on the other hand, well, Ishmael and Thalassa actually hugged each other. Obviously, there's some history...not to mention emotional attachment...there. But look at the body language from the District One Tributes."

I watch again as Haymitch replays Aurora and Silver taking the stage. "Well?" Haymitch looks at Gamma and I impatiently.

"Look there," Haymitch instructs us. "See the subtle eye contact? The almost invisible smiles? These two have something already worked out between them...and that makes them the most dangerous."

I glance around the dining car. Gamma is chewing on her lip and looks nervous...or maybe "concerned" is a more appropriate term. Effie looks stressed...but I have yet to see her relax completely since the Reaping. Cressida and her crew, of course, were not invited...this is, after all, a strategy meeting, and they left as soon as the Recaps were finished.

My gaze falls on Katniss last. If anyone could manage to look bored and angry at the same time, it was Katniss Everdeen. I let my eyes linger on her for a moment...this girl that I've secretly loved for so long. She looks the same as she always has, yet...different. It took me a few seconds to realize just why she looked different.

She looks perfect.

Her black hair was shiny and lustrous. Rather than the braid that she always wore in District Twelve, her hair was falling in loose waves about her shoulders. Her olive skin was perfect...free from any scars or blemishes. And her body...the body that she so carefully concealed for so long so as to avoid unwanted attention drawn to her often emaciated frame...her body was still slender, but now, with unmistakable womanly curves. If only she weren't scowling...

"What?" she snaps, glaring at me.

I immediately snap from my reverie. "Uhhh...nothing. Sorry." I mumble, simultaneously embarrassed and aroused. I quickly turn away, my face and neck reddening.

I hear Haymitch chuckle. "Well, it doesn't look like there's any questions. You two should try to get some rest. We arrive in the Capitol late tomorrow morning."

"Oh, yes," Katniss adds, a hint of bitterness in her voice. "After all, tomorrow is another big, big, big, BIG day! Right, Effie?" She glares at Effie, then at Haymitch. "Especially for me," she adds as she abruptly rises and storms out of the dining car.

"Honestly, Haymitch!" Effie says once Katniss is gone, "What is  _wrong_  with that girl? I've never seen anyone so moody in my life! Laughing one minute, angry the next...I thought she was difficult last year, but  _this_  -"

"I'll talk to her, Effie," a surprisingly subdued Haymitch promises.

Gamma snorts in disgust. "Don't know why she's so pissy," she says, referring to Katniss. "After all, it ain't like she knows she'll be dead in a couple weeks...like me." With that, Gamma abruptly rises to her feet as well and leaves.

Effie looks stricken. Haymitch just looks pained. I slowly stand up. "I guess I should turn in also," I say quietly. "G'night, Haymitch. G'night, Effie."

Haymitch and Effie both quickly mumble "Goodnight" to me. They are deep in a quiet, but intense, conversation before the door of the dining car hisses shut behind me.

I sigh and lean up against the wall, then turn and look out the window. It's dark outside. I can't see a thing. Was it really only this afternoon that I stepped forward and volunteered? I sigh again, jamming my hands in my pockets. Katniss won't talk to me, my district partner is an angry Seam girl that probably won't last five minutes once the gong sounds, and for the first time life in the mines doesn't sound so bad.

Too late for that, though. I wearily trudge back to my room, hoping against hope that I'll be able to sleep.

**PART IV**

I sit in the lounge car, cradling a mug of warm milk. It's sometime after midnight. In a matter of hours, we'll be in the Capitol. The cold grip of reality is slowly starting to sink in.

_It's happening. It's really happening. Is this what Gale felt last year? No...it couldn't be. He knew he was there to sacrifice himself for Katniss. I'm not going to sacrifice myself for anyone. Because I want to live. Oh, how I want to live._

I should be in bed, asleep. I need to sleep. I need to be well rested. And, if I can't sleep on the train, how am I supposed to sleep in the Training Center?

I take a sip of the milk. It's good...nice and warm, with honey and spice. The milk warms me all the way down. Hopefully, in a few minutes, I'll begin to feel drowsy. I take another sip, then lean back in my chair and close my eyes.

The hiss of the door opening causes my eyes to snap open. I'm almost positive I know who it is. I heard the screaming a few minutes ago, faint and far away.

Katniss, wearing a short robe over her nightgown, stops short as soon as she sees me. I see her eyes narrow a bit when she recognizes me. She hesitates for just a moment, undecided if she should retreat or move forward.

"Sorry," she mumbles as she turns to go.

"No!" I say, a little more sharply than I intended. "I mean," I say more softly, "Katniss...wait."

Katniss, her back already turned, pauses and turns her head almost imperceptibly. "Why?"

I stand up, feeling awkward...and more than a little aroused at Katniss standing there in a brief, but practical, nightgown and robe. "Look...I've been in here a while. I'll leave. I'm sure you want some privacy." I move to brush past her, only to feel her hand on my arm.

"No," she says. "I mean...you don't have to go if you don't want to."

Truthfully, I didn't want to go...not with her there. "Okay," I say softly. "I guess I'll finish my drink." I turn and go back to my chair.

"Drink?" Katniss asks. "Has Haymitch corrupted you that badly?"

I give her a shy smile. "It's milk," I explain. "Warm milk. Hopefully it'll help me sleep."

Katniss averts her eyes. "Oh."

"Would you like some?" I ask. Katniss looks up at me and nods, once. "Sure."

I press the call button by my chair. The Capitol Attendant is there in seconds.

"Yes, sir?"

"Can I get a pitcher of this, please?" I ask. "And another mug?"

"Right away, sir," the attendant says.

I settle back in my chair as Katniss sits opposite me. Neither of us speaks for several minutes. The attendant brings the pitcher and extra mug. I pour a mug for Katniss and set it before her, then refill my own mug. Katniss settles back in her chair, sipping her milk and looking out at the blackness of the night rolling past at more than three hundred kilometers an hour.

Finally, I can't stand it anymore. "Say it."

Katniss looks at me sharply. "What?"

"Say it," I repeat. "You're pissed at me. So let me have it."

Katniss whirls around in her chair, her eyes blazing. "Pissed?  _Pissed_? Try furious!" Her chest was heaving and for a moment I was wondering if it was such a good idea to force this issue.

"You  _lied_  to me, you asshole!" Her voice, although low, positively dripped venom. "'Katniss, I'm going to the mines! Katniss, please show me how to make snares so I don't starve!' And I  _believed_ it! You son of a bitch!"

"Can I ask you something?" I look at her warily.

"What?" she snaps.

"Would you have helped me if you had known?" I ask gently.

Katniss hesitates for a moment. "I don't know," she finally replies.

"Can I ask you something else?"

"What?"

I take a deep breath. "Are you angry with Haymitch, Madge, Delly, and Prim also?"

Her eyes blazed forth once more. "You leave my sister out of this!"

"Why?" I ask. "She figured it out. So did Madge and Delly. So did Coach, for that matter. And Haymitch knew all along." I pause, watching her as she digests this information. "So...are you mad at them too? Or am I special?"

"'Special?'" Katniss laughs. "Don't flatter yourself!"

"So you  _are_  mad at them also."

"I didn't say that!" Katniss glares at me. "Don't put words into my mouth!"

After her outburst, Katniss looks away from me, embarrassed.  _I don't have to put words in your mouth, Katniss,_ I say to myself. I want to say more, but the look in her eyes stops me. It's not an angry look. It's a pleading look.

"So, are they bad?" I ask gently, changing the subject.

"Is what bad?" Katniss asks wearily.

"Your nightmares," I reply softly.

"What makes you think I have nightmares?" Katniss snaps.

"Snow's Beard, Katniss," I reply. "I heard you screaming tonight. I heard you screaming just about every night I was living with Haymitch."

Katniss looks down at her mug. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"Why not?" I ask. "It may help to talk about it."

Katniss laughs bitterly. "If I won't talk about it with Prim, or my Mom, what makes you think that I'll talk about it with  _you_?"

"Because," I say slowly, "I'm  _not_  Prim...or your Mom."

Katniss raises her eyes to mine. When she looks at me now, she's not angry. Her eyes are pleading with me. "Please," she whispers. "Please drop it."

I nod slowly. "Okay, Katniss. If that's what you want."

"That's what I want," Katniss says in a near whisper. She sets her mug down and quickly stands up. "I'm going back to bed," she announces. "You should probably try to get some rest, too. Tomorrow's a busy day...for both of us."

I put my mug down. "Okay." I stand up as Katniss turns to go. "Katniss?"

She stops but doesn't turn back around. "What?"

I hesitate, not knowing if I really want to know the answer...but knowing that I have to ask anyway. "Are you...are you still mad at me?"

Her answer comes immediately. "Yes." It's almost a whisper.

"For what it's worth," I say slowly, "I'm sorry."

She still doesn't turn around. "I know."

And then she's gone. I hear the door hiss open, then shut. I sigh heavily, and then follow her. I pass her door, pause for a moment, then walk on to my room. I slip into my room, drop my robe, and crawl into bed.

I expect to lay awake all night long, but I'm asleep within moments. My dreams are all of Katniss...erotic, naked, loving me with her perfect body. I wake up once, my erection so hard it's almost painful, my bedclothes sticky with my nocturnal discharge.

I sigh and get up, stripping off my shorts and pulling the sticky sheets from my bed before lying back down again. As sleep begins to creep up on me again, one final thought goes through my mind.

I have about as much chance of Katniss falling in love with me as I do winning the Hunger Games.

**PART V**

The Capitol.

We are eating breakfast when we caught our first glimpse of this near-legendary city. We passed through an incredibly long tunnel through the massive mountains that ringed the city. Haymitch told us that one tunnel was over three kilometers long. It was as we emerged into the bright early summer sunshine that the gleaming city first came in to view.

It was the most impressive thing that I had ever seen.

Even Gamma was speechless...although; I noticed that she didn't stop eating, especially when she discovered the joys of hot chocolate. Cressida and her crew were busy filming our reactions at our first view of the Capitol. As for the rest, Haymitch looked bored, Effie looked stressed, and Katniss, for some reason, tried with no success to hide her nervousness.

_Whatever happened here during her Victory Tour...that's what's got her anxious._  I desperately want to help, but I know better. I didn't want her biting my head off before the Games even started.

"Look at 'em," Gamma says softly, gesturing at the film crew even as she stares in wonder at the Capitol. "Filmin' the bumpkins so everyone can have a laugh at Mandatory Viewin' tonight."

I sigh. At least she was saying it quietly for a change. "Believe it or not, they're all on our side here."

"Ha!" Gamma turns back towards the camera crews, whether to glare at them or make some obscene gesture, I'll never know. Whatever her plans were, she never got the chance to carry them out. Instead, she got an education.

"You!" My head snaps around at Gamma's outburst. "Yeah, you! With the beard! What the fuck are you doing?" Gamma makes a series of nonsensical gestures with her hands, and I realize that she's mocking Pollux. "What the fuck is all that supposed to mean, huh?"

"Gamma, he's -" I begin to say, before Castor, Pollux's brother, cuts me off.

"It's called Amsalan," Castor says coldly. "It's how he talks."

"How he  _talks_?" Gamma says skeptically. "Why don't he just talk, then?"

"He...he can't, dear," Effie says, shooting an apologetic glance toward the two brothers. "Pollux is...an Avox."

"A  _what_?" Gamma turns and glares at Effie. "What the fuck is an 'Avox,' Peacock?"

"It's 'Effie,'  _not_  Peacock!" Haymitch snaps. "And,  _Darlin',_  an Avox is a Capitol citizen that had his or her tongue removed as punishment, and had their citizenship stripped from them at the same time. They become virtual slaves."

For once Gamma is speechless. "Pollux worked for over five years in the sewers, before I was able to buy his freedom," Castor explains evenly. "That was two years ago. That's when he and I started working for Cressida."

Gamma is obviously embarrassed, although she tries valiantly to hide it. "What...what did he do?"

Castor glances at his brother before replying. "Does it matter?"

Gamma averts her eyes from the brothers. Haymitch can't resist a final dig. "Look at you, Darlin'. Findin' out that there's worse things than the Community Home."

Gamma flushes deep red, and then turns toward Castor and Pollux. "I...I'm sorry," she mumbles. "I didn't know."

At this, Pollux laughs. It's an unusual sound without a tongue, but it's unmistakably a laugh. He quickly signs to his brother, who also bursts out laughing. Gamma frowns, looking first at Castor, then at Pollux.

"What's so funny?" She demands.

Castor turns toward Gamma. He's smiling. "My brother says 'no worries' and to 'forget it.' He also said that it was worth it watching you call yourself an asshole when you were making fun of his signing."

"I called myself -" Gamma says slowly.

Pollux very carefully signs back at her. "An asshole," Castor says with a smile.

The only one who wasn't laughing was Gamma...but the sheepish look on her face spoke volumes.

* * *

"Okay, you two," Haymitch says a few minutes later. "Listen up. We're about five minutes out from the train station. It's gonna be a friggin' madhouse there when we get there. This is what I want from you both. I wanna see smiles and waves to the crowd...especially you, Darlin'...Snow knows you need work in the 'friendly and likable' department."

"Smile and wave?" Gamma practically snarls the words. "At a bunch of people that want to see me die in the most 'entertaining' way?"

"You heard me," Haymitch says grimly. "You smile, you wave...and maybe, just maybe, someone throws some sponsor money your way. Got it?"

Gamma just grunts. Haymitch ignores her and continues to talk.

"We're going straight from the train station to the Remake Center. You'll meet your Prep Teams and Stylists there. Trust me, you'll probably hate what they're gonna do to you, so I'll only say this once.  _Do not resist them and let them do whatever they want._  These people are experts at bringing out the best in a Tribute."

"You'll be working with Cinna and his Prep Team," Katniss tells Gamma quietly. It's the first advice I've heard her give to her Tribute since Gamma was Reaped. "Cinna's the best. You'll end up liking him. I do, and it's well known that I don't like anyone."

Gamma looks unconvinced...and, now that the train is beginning to slow, more than a little nervous. I glance at Katniss and see her face set in its' usual impassive mask. If her last comment was meant as a joke, she's doing a great job of hiding it.

The station comes into view, with throngs of people on both platforms. Haymitch very quietly urges Gamma and I to the windows. Swallowing my own nervousness, I watch, as the platform gets larger and larger. I'm amazed that people aren't being bodily shoved off the platform and onto the tracks.

"It's a miracle no one gets killed," I remark to Haymitch.

Haymitch grins. "Now  _that_ would be bad publicity, kid," he says. "But don't worry. Ain't no one gonna get run over by this, or any other, train. There's a force field on both platforms. The harder they push against it, the harder it pushes them back."

We're close enough now that I can make eye contact with some of the people. They all look similar to Effie...the same outlandish hair and the same loud, colorful clothing. And they're all cheering...and, I realize with some shock, they're cheering for  _me_.

The few that I make eye contact with erupt in an absolute frenzy. Everyone else is cheering and jumping up and down, trying to attract my attention. I smile and wave, like Haymitch said to, and the effect on the crowd is electric.

The train lurches to a halt. "Wait for the guard!" Haymitch calls out. Outside the train a platoon of white-clad Peacekeepers assembles, forming a loose wedge in front of the large glass doors. When the doors hiss open, Haymitch beckons "Follow me." He may have said something, too...but it was lost in the cacophony of noise erupting from the platform. I follow Haymitch through the doors and notice that the platform immediately begins to slope downward. I realize that the platform itself has lowered into a ramp, leading under the rest of the station. In moments our entire group...Mentors, Tributes, the camera crew, and Effie Trinket, our Escort...are standing in a narrow, well-lit tunnel. The crowd noise quickly fades, and then disappears entirely, as the ramp closes over our heads and the Peacekeepers seem to melt into the walls and disappear.

Haymitch points up toward the platform. "They put the ramp in ten years ago," he explains, "after Finnick Odair was mobbed during his first Games as Mentor. It took District Four so long to get through the crowd that their Prep Teams and Stylists had almost no time to prep their Tributes that year. Both Tributes from Four were killed in the bloodbath that year, coincidentally."

"So what are we doing here?" I ask.

"Waiting for our ride," Haymitch replies. "Ahh...there they come!"

I glance down the tunnel and see a procession of small, electrically powered carts headed our way. Effie and Cressida get in the first one, Katniss and Gamma the second, Haymitch and I the third, and Messalla, Castor and Pollux the fourth. Once everyone is seated, the carts begin to speed down the tunnel toward the Remake Center.

"The Remake Center is about two kilometers away," Haymitch explains to me. "You won't be there long. Your Prep Team will...well, prep you, and then you'll meet Portia, your Stylist. She and Cinna are probably the best team of Stylists in the Games. Once she and Cinna have you and Gamma all prepped and dressed, you'll ride in the Tribute Parade, then we all go straight to the Training Center afterwards."

"And what will you and Katniss be doing while Gamma and I are being worked on?" I ask.

Haymitch pauses for a moment to remove a flask from his jacket pocket. He uncaps it, takes a long pull, carefully caps it again, and slips it back into his pocket. "We'll find out at the Remake Center, kid," he says without smiling. "I'm sure they'll have some bullshit for us to deal with."

I glance at the cart directly in front of us and notice that Katniss is nervously fingering an embossed card that she has clutched in her hand. When she sees me watching her she quickly slips it into her pocket, then quickly looks away. She doesn't look in my direction for the rest of the short trip to the Remake Center. Soon after, we arrive at the Remake Center, where Gamma and I are met immediately by our respective Prep Teams.

"Remember," Haymitch calls out, "Don't resist!"

As Gamma and I are hustled into the Remake Center, I find myself wondering exactly what was on that card.

**PART VI**

"Peeta?" I jump slightly from my position on the gurney. I glance in the direction of the voice, embarrassed that I was so easily startled...not to mention the fact that I'm sitting here completely naked except for a thin robe covering me.

The owner of the voice...a tall, slender, blonde haired, dark skinned woman...smiles at me. "Sorry if I startled you," she says contritely. I sit up, mindful to keep the robe closed and covering my midsection. The woman extends her hand. "I'm Portia," she continues with a smile. "Your Stylist."

I take her hand. She squeezes my hand firmly, her fingers warm against mine. "Peeta Mellark," I mumble.

"I know." The woman smiles at me again, and this time I shyly return it.  _Did Gale give you shit last year?_  I ask myself, and then I'm immediately ashamed for the thought. It was unfair to Gale's memory, and it was unfair to this smiling, friendly woman standing in front of me.

"Can you stand up for me, Peeta?" Portia asks. I slide off the gurney and stand in front of her, acutely aware of just how thin the robe is. Portia examines me with a critical eye, cradling her chin in her hand.

"Please remove your robe," she says suddenly. I look at her in astonishment for a moment, with Haymitch's words echoing in my mind.  _Don't resist_ , he had said. I sigh, untie the robe, and slip it off my shoulders, laying it carefully on the gurney.

"Hmmm." Portia slowly walks all around me, her eyes flicking up and down my naked...and now totally hairless...body. The Prep Team and been very thorough, taking great pains to remove every bit of my body hair, leaving only my face and head untouched.

Portia finishes her examination, nodding her head thoughtfully. "Okay, go ahead and put your robe back on and have a seat." She points to one of two chairs placed near the gurney. I quickly slip the robe on and sit, while Portia settles into the chair opposite mine.

"How do you feel, Peeta?" She asks gently.

"Confused. Scared. Anxious." I reply truthfully.

Portia smiles warmly at me. "I can understand all three. Do you remember the Parade from last year?"

It was my turn to smile now. "How could I forget? It was amazing!"

"Cinna and I decided to stay with the same theme...burning coal...but at the same time change it up a bit. No flames this year, sorry." Portia holds up a square of black, iridescent material. "Your costume, as well as Gamma's costume, is made out of this material. Cinna and I decided that, instead of burning coal, this year District Twelve would be glowing embers."

Portia displays a button set into the top of a small cylindrical object. When she pushes it, the square of material immediately begins to emit a soft, orange glow, the pattern constantly changing. When she waves the material through the air, glowing sparks jump from the square like embers from a fire. She pushes the button once more and the orange glow immediately disappears.

"Feel," she says, holding the fabric out to me. I grab the square and find that it's cool to the touch.

"Cinna will be along in a moment," Portia explains. "He's with Gamma right now. But here's the plan. You will have control of the costumes. Once your chariot emerges onto the Avenue of Tributes from the Remake Center tunnel, count to ten and push the button. Your button will control both costumes and is identical to this one. Instead of making a flaming entrance like Katniss and Gale did last year, you and Gamma suddenly 'coming to life' in front of everyone will be every bit as dramatic. And remember to work the crowd. Smile, blow kisses, and wave."

I nod solemnly as Portia speaks.

"Keep the costumes on until your chariot comes to a complete stop in City Center. Once you stop moving, turn off the costumes immediately." Portia continues, and then pauses when a slender, dark skinned man, dressed entirely in black, enters the room.

"Hello, Peeta. I'm Cinna," he says, offering his hand. We shake hands firmly. "Portia explained the plan to you?" I nod. "Good. Any questions?"

"No," I reply. "It's simple enough."

Cinna clasps me on the shoulder and smiles. "Good man. Anyway, I stepped away from your district partner for a moment to talk with you. You made a huge stir during the Reapings, you know."

"I did?" I ask skeptically. "I mean, Katniss  _and_  Gale both volunteered last year."

"It's not just the volunteering," Cinna explains. "The way you strode up to the stage, brimming with confidence. The way you faced the crowd and how you spoke to them...everyone is still talking about it, and...well, you already have a nickname here."

"What is it?" I ask, with more than just a little trepidation.

Cinna smiles. "The Career from District Twelve."

* * *

Portia escorts me to the assembly area beneath the Remake Center. I'm covered head to toe in the same black fabric that Portia had demonstrated earlier. It's skin-tight, sleeveless, and open down my chest.

"You remember the change we talked about?" Portia asks.

I nod. "No waving, smiling, or blowing kisses. Don't smile, don't make eye contact with anyone, be aloof."

"You got it," she says, and then sighs. "It's probably not going to get you many Sponsors, but Gamma wasn't going to cooperate anyway. It's best if you both are on the same page. And who knows? The crowd just may like the 'we're above this all' act."

"I just hope she didn't screw things up for us both," I mutter.

We stop a few paces from the District Twelve chariot. Gamma is already waiting for me, gawking at the horses and trying to hide her own nervousness. "This is where we part," Portia says to me. She squeezes my shoulder affectionately. "I'll see you in the Training Center after the Parade. Where's the button?"

I hold up my left hand. The control for the costumes is clutched firmly in my fingers.

"Remember," she says as she turns to walk away. "A ten count after you emerge onto the Avenue of Tributes, and turn them off as soon as you stop in City Circle."

I watch Portia disappear into the crowd near where we entered the assembly area, then turn and walk over to where Gamma is standing, and see her tentatively touch the neck of one of the black horses hitched to our chariot.

She glances at me as I walk up, and then continues to stroke the big animal's neck. "I ain't never seen a real horse before," she says softly.

"Neither have I," I admit. I stroke the horse's neck and long nose. The horse makes a nickering sound and leans into my hand.

"I feel stupid wearing this," Gamma confesses. She's dressed as I am, except her shoulders are bare and somehow Cinna managed to prop up her breasts into displaying acceptable, if not abundant, cleavage. Still, she looks more like a little girl trying to play dress-up rather than a sixteen-year-old young woman.

"How do you think I feel?" I ask. "I can barely breathe, it's so tight!"

"You too?" Gamma says with a small smile.

"Tributes, mount your chariots," a voice suddenly booms over our heads. Gamma and I step up into the chariot, with her to my right. I stare down the line of chariots and gauge the competition. That's an advantage to being from Twelve...you can see every other chariot in the line simply by looking straight ahead.

I notice one boy, in a chariot about a third of the way from the front, turn around and fix Gamma with an angry glare. She, in turn, steadfastly ignores him. I say nothing until I see his chariot lurch forward as it begins to move.

"What's that all about?" I ask.

"Him?" Gamma sniffs. "He came strolling back here a few minutes before you got here, eating sugar cubes and asking me if I wanted one too."

"Sugar cubes?" I ask in astonishment. "Where did he get sugar cubes?"

"I guess you could get them to give to the horses," Gamma replies. She glares at the boy's back. "Creep."

I suddenly remember that he was one of the boys that Haymitch had specifically warned us about. Ishmael Brennan, of District Four. One of the Careers. "What did you say to him?" I ask as the District Eleven chariot begins to move.

"I told him to fuck off," Gamma says with a tight smile as our chariot gives a sudden jerk, and then begins to roll forward slowly.

"Look at you," I laugh. "Still in the Remake Center and making friends already!"

If Gamma said anything in response, it was lost in the crowd roar as we emerge into the blinding late afternoon sunshine in the Capitol.

* * *

The crowd was so loud I could actually feel the noise in my chest. I remember...just barely...to begin to count as our chariot slowly rolls down the Avenue of Tributes. Dimly I can hear music playing...all but drowned out by the crowd.

I glance at Gamma. She's staring straight ahead, her mouth set in a thin line, her hands gripping the handhold firmly. I see her mouth move, and, although I can't hear a word, I can read her lips very clearly.

"Holy shit!"

My eyes scan the wildly enthusiastic crowd.  _The best is yet to come_ , I say to myself as my count reaches ten and I mash my thumb down on the button. I keep my eyes straight ahead, my face set in a mask of grim determination, so at first I can't see if the costumes "lit" the way they were supposed to.

I didn't have to. The roar of the crowd tells me everything I need to know.

We're being pelted with roses, the crowd screaming wildly, and, as we roll toward City Center, a new sound arises from the massive crush of humanity.

They're chanting our names.

From my side of the chariot I hear, in unison,  _PEETA! PEETA! PEETA!_  I turn my head towards the right side of the chariot and I can now hear  _GAMMA! GAMMA! GAMMA!_

Gamma turns to me, eyes wide, and leans in close so I can hear her. "They...they're chantin' my name!  _Our_  names!"

I nod and flash her a quick smile to show her that I understand, then turn back and watch, as City Circle gets ever closer. The floor of the chariot is covered in roses of all colors and sizes.

Our chariot enters City Circle from the right and slowly makes its way around the circle, slowing, then finally lurching to a complete stop. At that instant, I press the button again, and the embers immediately extinguish themselves. Another roar erupts from the crowd as our flame dies.

I raise my eyes to see President Coriolanus Snow step up to the microphone on the balcony above our heads. He begins to speak, welcoming us to the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games and the Third Quarter Quell, but I hardly listen. Instead, my attention is on what my district partner is saying.

"I ain't nobody no more," she says in almost a whisper. "Today, I'm somebody.  _I'm somebody!_ "

_Yes, you are, Gamma_ , I say to myself, allowing a small grin to crease my face.

I'm sure the cameras loved  _that_. I know I did.

**PART VII**

"That was  _great_ , you two!"

Cinna, Portia, Effie, and Haymitch greet us enthusiastically in the Training Center assembly area. Katniss was noticeably absent.

I catch Haymitch's eye and mouth "Katniss?" His face settles into a grim mask and he shakes his head, once, quickly. So, she has already been "called away." I wonder if it has something to do with that mysterious embossed card that she was clutching so desperately on the cart ride from the train station to the Remake Center.

Her absence isn't lost on Gamma, either...but she's learning how to play the game within the Games. No public outbursts...no scenes...especially not with other Tributes present. No, she'll wait until we're alone before she says anything.

Our entrance was not lost on the other Tributes, especially the Careers from Districts One, Two and Four. I notice Aurora, the girl from District One, paying especially close attention to us. The Careers hate being upstaged, especially by the smallest, poorest district in Panem. As Haymitch talks with the Stylists and Effie, I catch Aurora's eye, arch one eyebrow, and then quickly push the button in my hand again.

Gamma and I flare to life once more, much to the surprise of Aurora and the rest of the Career Pack. Still looking her in the eye, I give her a confident smirk, only to see her eyes narrow with anger.

My trick wasn't lost on our group, either, as Cinna gently takes the button from my hand and quickly pushes it, extinguishing our costumes. "All right," he says patiently. "Enough fun for one evening."

"I agree," Haymitch says firmly. "Time to head upstairs."

We walk to a bank of elevators as a group. Effie is in deep conversation with Portia, with Cinna chiming in every so often. Meanwhile, Haymitch is speaking to Gamma and myself, telling us in fairly general terms what to expect in the morning when we begin our training.

We aren't the only group waiting for elevators. A pair of Tributes dressed as railroad engineers identifies one group as coming from District Six, while another Tribute pair is dressed, rather ridiculously in my opinion, as trees, marking them as hailing from District Seven. Haymitch nods at a man with the District Seven group...a man roughly Haymitch's age, of medium build, sporting a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee.

"Blight," Haymitch says cordially, stepping forward and offering the man his hand.

The other man takes Haymitch's proffered hand, shaking it firmly. "Haymitch." He looks around in obvious confusion. "Where's your newbie?"

"Called away earlier tonight," Haymitch explains. "Games business." I realize now that Haymitch and the other man...'Blight,' Haymitch had called him...were speaking about Katniss.

A shadow seems to pass over Blight's face at Haymitch's mention of Katniss being called away on "Games Business." Something was going on with Katniss that, apparently, neither of these men liked.

Haymitch glances at me quickly, then turns back to Blight and deftly changes the subject. "So, where's Mason?"

"Heavensbee wanted to talk to her," Blight explains. "Apparently, neither he nor Seneca were too happy with her perceived 'lack of respect' during President Snow's opening remarks."

"Oh, really?" Haymitch says with a grin. "I must have missed that."

"The cameras cut away immediately," Blight explains, "before any Mandatory viewers could see her doing this." Blight cups his right hand and moves it up and down, mimicking the motions of male masturbation.

Haymitch tries, and fails, to hold back the laughter that rises in his throat. "Oh, shit! She didn't!"

"She did," Blight says grimly. "She did, and I hope that the Gamemakers don't end up taking it out on my kids in the arena because of her." He says this last part softly, and I realize that he's referring to the District Seven Tributes as "my kids."

"I'm sorry, Blight," Haymitch says contritely, his laughter dying away immediately. "Listen, why don't you and I go see Plutarch or Seneca tomorrow. I'll help you plead your case."

"Thanks, Haymitch," Blight says gratefully. "I appreciate your help. Heavensbee will listen to you more than me." A series of soft chiming noises announces the arrival of several elevators. Blight and his group head off to the one nearest them, and then he stops and turns back towards us, even as we head to the nearest open elevator door.

"Haymitch, can you do me another favor and wait for Jo? She should be along any minute and I want to make sure she gets off on the right floor."

What Blight doesn't say speaks louder than what he did say. Johanna Mason, his fellow Victor and Mentor, obviously needs someone to help her "focus" on her duties at hand. And, as I had just finished putting two and two together and realized that the person that Haymitch and Blight and been discussing was none other than Johanna Mason of District Seven, I find myself hoping that Haymitch would agree to hang back and wait for her.

Haymitch and Blight had both become Victors before I was born; but I remember Johanna Mason's Games quite well...and the prospect of meeting a celebrity was, in spite of the circumstances involved, more than a little exciting.

Haymitch immediately agrees. "Hold up, kids." He turns toward Blight. "Sure, no problem...but I'm only giving her five minutes."

Blight grins at Haymitch. "Thanks, Haymitch. I owe you one." He then turns and steps into the elevator with the rest of his group, the doors shutting behind him a moment later.

"Haymitch?" Effie's voice calls out from the last remaining elevator. Her hand is on the door as she holds the elevator in place.

"You go on ahead, Princess," Haymitch drawls. "The kids and I will be along shortly."

"Don't be long," Effie admonishes. "We still have work to do tonight." With that, she allows the doors to slide shut.

Haymitch turns back to us with a sigh. "Just relax, you two. We'll wait a few minutes and see if Mason shows up or not."

"Are we really waitin' for  _Johanna Mason_?" Gamma asks. I can see that I'm not the only one that's a little star-struck. I find myself smiling at the thought.

"The one an' only," Haymitch replies, and then adds, "What, Katniss and I ain't 'star' enough for you two?"

"It's not that," I say quickly. "But...well, we see you around Twelve all the time, and -"

Haymitch laughs. "Forget it, kid," he says. "I'm just pullin' your chain."

The sudden staccato of high heels on the tile floor provides a thankful diversion from my embarrassment. I turn to see a young, slender woman, dressed in a long sleeved, short, dusty orange dress and matching high heels hurry toward us. She stops short, glancing at us in confusion, ruffling her hand through her short, dark hair. She's as tall as I am, and considerably taller than Gamma.

"Abernathy?" The young woman frowns as she glares at Haymitch, while ignoring Gamma and I. "What are you still doing here? Where are Blight and the rest of my crew?"

I've just met Johanna Mason.

"Blight asked me to hang back and wait for you," Haymitch explains, and then turns to me. "Call an elevator, please, Peeta."

"Sure," I say, turning and poking the call button. It was then that I realized that he called me by my name instead of "kid." I wonder about that. That was deliberate on his part.

"And you did," Johanna says with a smile, although there was an angry glint in her eye. "Doesn't Blight realize that I know the friggin' way?"

"He just wanted to make sure you didn't get sidetracked along the way," Haymitch replies with a smile.

"Shit!" Johanna says disgustedly, then turns and looks at Gamma and I as if noticing us for the first time. "These yours?" She asks Haymitch, jerking her thumb in our direction.

"Yeah," Haymitch replies. "Gamma Churchill, Peeta Mellark...Johanna Mason."

"Hello," Gamma says timidly. It's the most subdued I've ever heard her sound.

"Hi," Johanna replies distractedly as she turns toward me. "And this is your Volunteer? What the fuck's going on in Twelve, anyway? All these Volunteers! They spike your water or something?"

"Jo -" Haymitch begins to say, but I interrupt.

"Nice meeting you, Miss Mason," I say smoothly, belying my nervousness. I extend my hand to her _._

"Well!" Johanna says, taking my hand briefly. "At least there's  _some_  gentlemen in District Twelve. Nice to meet you too, Handsome!" She smiles warmly at me.

The elevator chime dings softly behind us as the doors slide open. "After you," Haymitch says to Johanna, gallantly sweeping his arm toward the open elevator.

The sarcasm isn't lost on Johanna, who steps into the elevator first, followed by Gamma, Haymitch, and me. "Seven, please," she says as Haymitch punches first the Seven, then the Twelve, buttons. The elevator begins to move.

"Where's your partner?" Johanna asks Haymitch.

"Games business," Haymitch replies grimly.

Johanna's eyes narrow slightly. "I wonder if Finnick is with her. He was called away also."

"Cashmere, too," Haymitch adds.

"Shit." Johanna says softly.

The elevator chimes softly as we arrive at the seventh floor. "This is where I get off," Johanna says. She turns to Gamma. "Goodbye, Gamma. And good luck."

Gamma's eyes widen as Johanna addresses her directly for the first time. "Bye," she manages to stammer. "And thanks."

Johanna smiles and turns toward me. "And I hope to see  _you_  again, Handsome," she says with a smile, placing her hand on my cheek briefly. I can feel myself flushing in spite of myself. Haymitch just looks at us both and chuckles.

"G'night, Jo," he calls out as Johanna steps from the elevator. She doesn't turn around or look back; instead, she just casually waves her hand over her head as the doors close behind her.

The elevator begins to move once more. Haymitch turns toward Gamma and I. "When we get to our apartments, you two go get changed. We'll eat dinner after you change. We'll need to watch the Parade Recaps, and then I want you both in bed early. Training starts tomorrow morning at ten."

I feel my stomach tighten a bit when Haymitch mentions Training. We'll be spending the next several days with the rest of the Tributes. The Games start in less than a week.

The elevator stops and opens directly into our apartments. I can't help but gasp in awe at the richness and opulence displayed before me. I glance at Gamma and see that she, too, is in awe at what she sees.

Haymitch, Gamma and I step off the elevator into what Effie calls the "Penthouse." And then it strikes me.

This is the last place that I may ever be comfortable in again.

Ever.


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER 14**

**PART I**

"We can coach you together, or separately," Haymitch is saying as he carefully butters a biscuit. "It's your choice, but we need to know how we're gonna play this. Decide now."

The word "we" was not lost on either Gamma or myself as my eyes dart from Haymitch to Katniss. Our Mentors were sitting across from us at the breakfast table. Gamma was enthusiastically tackling a heaping plate of just about everything on the serving table. I had to admit, my plate was pretty full as well.

"Why would we get separate coaching?" Gamma asks around a mouthful of egg.

"Say, for example, you had a skill that you wanted to keep from Peeta," Katniss says. Both Haymitch and I look at Katniss in surprise. Up until now, she's taken zero interest in actually Mentoring her Tribute.

Gamma laughs. "That's funny.  _Me_...with a  _skill_."

"You've lasted five years in the Home, Gamma," Katniss points out. "You may not have any outdoors skills, or know how to use weapons, but you're a survivor. And that can't be taught here."

Gamma still looks unconvinced. "Katniss is right, Darlin,'" Haymitch adds. "You don't think you know anything...but you probably know more about what it takes to stay alive day to day than any of the Careers."

"We'll get coached together," I say suddenly. I turn towards Gamma. "Unless you have a problem with that."

Gamma is obviously surprised by this, but slowly nods. "No. No problem, I mean. Sure, we can get coached together."

Haymitch lets out a deep breath. "Okay," he says, relief in his voice. "Now that we've settled that, and I know what your skills are...Peeta, we don't need to go into yours, and Darlin', you say you don't have any...here's what I want you to do."

He pauses as Gamma and I both lean forward a bit. I catch a glimpse of Katniss and see a smile flicker briefly across her face that disappears almost instantly.  _Was she smiling at me, or what Haymitch said?_  I'm puzzled but I can't very well ask her.

"Concentrate on survival skills," Haymitch continues. "Finding food, water and shelter will be of more immediate urgency to you both than skill with weapons. Learn how to make fire. Learn how to make snares...Peeta, I know you've had some practice with that already -" Haymitch glances over at Katniss, and I see that her face has fallen into that impassive mask once more "- so maybe you can help Gamma with that. Remember, there's no silver parachutes during these Games, so I can't send either of you food or water if you need it."

Gamma looks unconvinced. "What about fightin'?"

"What about it?" Haymitch replies gruffly. "Look, Darlin', that's not your game. Your game...and yours, too, Peeta...is survival, plain and simple. And remember, this is a Quell, so the arena will most likely be just as deadly as any Career. Your best defense against the arena will be survival skills."

"Listen to Haymitch," Katniss adds. "Let the Careers run themselves ragged hunting down Tributes. You need to concentrate on staying alive."

"What about the Feasts?" I ask. "From what you said, they're gonna have them every day."

"Every day?" Katniss looks at Haymitch. "What the hell's he talking about?"

Haymitch sighs. "If you had read your Mentor's Guide, or sat in on our meetings on the train, you would have known this, Sweetheart."

Katniss sits back, her arms crossed in front of her chest, looking sullen. "Sorry," she mutters. "I had other things on my mind."

"I realize this," Haymitch replies, and I'm surprised at the gentleness in his voice. "But now, we have Tributes that need us. I need your head in the game, Sweetheart."

Katniss nods once, tightly. Haymitch, seemingly satisfied, turns back to Gamma and I. "Okay," he continues, "on the subject of Feasts. You two will have to use your own best judgment on whether or not you'll attend. It's a matter of weighing the risk against your needs. Just remember, if neither of you show up, everything that would have gone to you goes to some other Tribute."

Neither Gamma nor I have anything to say. "Okay, then. You two finish your breakfast. You need to be ready for training by a quarter to ten. Effie will take you downstairs at that time."

"I'm done now," I say, pushing myself back from the table.

"Good," Haymitch says, pausing to pour something from a small flask into his coffee. "I need to talk to you for a minute, Peeta. Katniss, can you stay here with Gamma and answer any questions that she may have?"

Katniss, who had been rising from her chair, reluctantly settles back down. "Sure," she says unenthusiastically.

Haymitch shoots Katniss a look, and then beckons me to follow him. I follow him down the hallway where all the bedrooms are located and we enter the room at the very end of the hallway. As we enter, I realize that this must be Haymitch's bedroom, if the amount of empty bottles is any indicator.

"Excuse the mess," Haymitch says as he tosses some dirty clothes from the bed to the floor. "The maid hasn't been in yet. Sit down."

I sit on the spot that Haymitch had cleared off for me and look up at him expectantly. "I won't keep you long," he says, taking a sip from his coffee, smacking his lips appreciatively.

"What's up?" I ask.

"Two things," he replies. "Number one. This 'Career from District Twelve' business. Kid, if the other Mentors are any indication, you're gonna be going into the Games with a huge target on your back. The 'real' Careers are all pissed as hell about it, and the entrance that you and Gamma made yesterday didn't help matters. So, you can either expect to be targeted from the second the gong sounds, or invited to join the Careers."

I look at Haymitch in surprise. "What? Why?"

"It's a pretty standard tactic that they use with strong non-Career Tributes," Haymitch explains. "They did it last year with Gale and with Thresh from District Eleven. It's an offshoot from an old saying...'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.' These Tributes are then either killed outright or as soon as they've outlived their usefulness. I don't think I have to tell you this, but I will anyway...if they offer, don't take it."

"I already knew that," I say, a bit impatiently. "What's number two?"

"Form an alliance with Gamma," Haymitch says. "But wait until training is over...unless she comes to you first. Wait -" he continues, holding up his hand at my impending protests "- I know what you're gonna say. She's not the most ideal ally, and I agree. But, at this point, I think you'll be able to trust her...at least at first. And you have to sleep sometime."

I nod, slowly. "Okay," I finally say. "But I'm gonna look out for other potential allies other than Gamma."

"Fair enough," Haymitch says, clapping me on the shoulder as I stand up. "Now go get ready. Don't want to keep the Princess waiting, do we?"

* * *

I step into the hallway and shut Haymitch's door behind him. He had mentioned having to get dressed so he and Blight could meet with Plutarch Heavensbee, the Assistant Head Gamemaker, about Johanna Mason's 'indiscretion.'

Katniss is in the hallway also, just shutting her door behind her. Idly, I wonder if she has to hurry off again to tend to "Games Business," like yesterday.

"Hello, Katniss," I say, giving her a quick smile.

Katniss turns away immediately. "Peeta," she mumbles, as she begins to move quickly down the hallway. I watch her walk, and notice that there's something...different...in how she's moving this morning.

"Are you okay?" I call out. Katniss stops immediately and I see her back stiffen.

"What?" she snaps without turning around.

"I said, 'are you okay?'" Her entire body now seems tense.

"Why do you ask?" She practically spits each word.  _Oh, no...here we go again._

"You...you're walking funny," I reply. "Like you hurt yourself or -"

Katniss whirls around, her face a mask of barely controlled anger. "I'm  _fine_!" She strides toward me...painfully, I can see...and pokes a single, well-manicured finger into my chest. "I'm fine! I'm not hurt! There's nothing wrong! And  _mind your own fucking business!_ "

Her violent reaction has taken me completely off guard. "I'm sorry, Katniss," I stammer. "I'm only trying -"

"Peeta." Haymitch's soft voice calls out my name from behind me. I glance behind me to see Haymitch, half dressed, standing just outside his bedroom door. "Go get ready now." He smiles tightly. "You have another big, big, big day ahead."

I turn back to Katniss, trembling with anger... _and something else...fear?_...her chest heaving, unshed tears trembling on her eyelashes. I open my mouth, but before I can say anything, she turns and flees down the hallway and into the main living area. Seconds later I hear the elevator chime.

I slowly turn back to Haymitch as realization begins to dawn in my brain. "Games Business?" I ask bitterly.

"Like she said, kid," Haymitch says kindly, "it's none of your business."

"What's going on with her, Haymitch?" I ask plaintively.

"You don't want to know, kid," Haymitch replies wearily. "You don't want to know."

The only problem with that was...I think I've already figured it out. And he was right.

I didn't want to know.

**PART II**

"Look around you," Atala, the tall, dark-skinned, athletic woman in the center of the circle of Tributes, says. "There are twenty-four of you here today. A month from today, only one of you will still be alive."

Atala pauses for a moment, her eyes sweeping over our faces. "I'm not saying that to be cruel, or heartless, or to scare you. I say that as a fact. Now, I know that you all will probably want to head straight to the weapons stations. Before I release you to begin training, remember this...one third to one half of you will die from infection, dehydration, exposure, starvation, or disease.  _Do not ignore the survival or first aid stations_. The Hunger Games are just as much about surviving as they are about killing."

"Now, here are a few rules," Atala continues. "One. Do not fight with other Tributes. If you want a hand-to-hand or edged weapons partner, we will provide one to you. We  _do not_ tolerate fighting among Tributes! Save that for the arena."

"What happens if we do?" This question from Lexus, the District Two boy. There's an unpleasant smirk on his face as he asks.

"Trust me, you won't like it," Atala replies with an unpleasant smile. "Aside from the...consequences...you'll lose valuable training time. So don't do it."

"Two," Atala continues. "There will be a series of compulsory exercises designed to test your agility, strength, endurance, and intelligence. These tests will not take long and you will be pulled from training at random. The results of each of these tests will figure in to your final score, so try to do as well as you can on each of them."

"Three. Listen to your Mentors. Each Mentor is a past Hunger Games Victor. They know what they are talking about. Any questions?" Atala looks around. "Okay. I'll read off a list of the training stations. Start wherever you like."

As Atala reads off the stations, I glance around at the other Tributes...mostly scared kids, aside from the Careers, of course...but then, I remember that  _I'm_ considered a Career as well. I catch Gamma's eye and give her a quick smile. She flashes a tight smile back at me in return.

"Alright, Tributes," Atala says, "Feel free to train...except I'll need to see the Tributes from Districts Three and Ten for your first compulsory exercise. Good luck...and may the odds be ever in your favor."

I saunter over to Gamma. "Any place in particular you want to start?" I ask.

She shrugs. "Fire making, I guess," she says listlessly. We're both wearing training uniforms...comfortable shoes, similar to my running shoes back in Twelve, loose fitting pants, and sleeveless pullover shirts.

I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. "Sounds good." Together we walk to the fire making station, staffed by a man who, for some reason, reminds me of my father. I feel a quick pang of something...homesickness, maybe...that passes quickly.

If it weren't for the grim business that we were training for, fire making would have actually been fun. The instructor showed us all kinds of tricks that we could use...everything from standard methods, like using a flint and steel (something everyone in Twelve knew how to do...matches, like everything else, costs money), to a bow drill, to using a magnifying glass to focus the sun. He taught us where to find kindling that would flare up quickly with a single spark, and even how to use things like flashlight batteries.

To my surprise, Gamma really takes to the training. She shows a real talent for starting fires and, from the look on her face, was actually enjoying herself. All too quickly, however, our time at fire making is up. The chime announces the end of the hour and instructs us to move to another station.

"Knot tying?" I ask Gamma. She shrugs and nods. The knot tying station is right next to the fire making station, so we didn't have far to go. Across the hall Gamma and I both notice the Career Pack noisily practicing with their weapons...swords, spears, and knives...and, perhaps most significantly, Aurora Chamberlain practicing with bow and arrow.

I must have frozen in place while watching them, because Gamma has to urge me on to the knot tying station. "Come on, Townie. Ain't got time to rubberneck."

I blink, turn, and look blankly at Gamma for a moment before shaking my head slowly. "Sorry," I mumble as I allow her to lead me to knot tying.  _What's wrong with me? Why is that one Career distracting me so much?_  But, even as I ask myself the question, I realize that I already know the answer.

Aurora Chamberlain reminds me, in many ways, of Katniss Everdeen.

Her dark hair, now pulled back in a ponytail rather than a braid, her slender build, her skin...not olive like Katniss, but tanned golden...and her ease with the bow...all remind me of Katniss. It takes an effort on my part to remind myself that this girl is a Career...someone that's trained for years to be in the Games. And, unlike Katniss, who only killed when she was forced to kill, Aurora was going to actively hunt down Tributes once we were in the arena.

Gamma notices my distraction easily. "Hey!" Her voice is quiet, but insistent. "Pull your head outta your ass, Townie! Head in the game, remember?"

I glance at my District Partner. This skinny, plain girl...only, not so plain any more, after Cinna and her Prep Team worked her over...who's only here by bad luck, is more focused than I am. And I  _volunteered_  to be here!

I find myself grinning sheepishly at Gamma. "Okay, Gamma. Head out of ass and into the game!"

Gamma regards me for a moment, her eyes narrowed, and I can tell that she's trying to decide whether or not I'm making fun of her. "That's better," she finally says. "Come on."

I guess she decided that I was  _not_  making fun of her.

Together, we turn and step into the knot tying station...and realize, too late, that another Tribute has beaten us to it. Now, there's no rule that says only one District or District Pair per station...but still, neither Gamma nor I was quite ready to mingle with someone for another district...or so we thought.

We hesitate, deciding if we should just go on to a different station, when the instructor sees us. "Come on in!" The man beckons us in with a wave of his arm. "This isn't the time to be shy, now! Come on!"

I glance at Gamma, who nods almost imperceptibly, and then we both step into the station just as the other Tribute straightens up from the knot he was working on and turns to face us.

Gamma and I both stop in our tracks. It's the huge boy from District Nine...the one that Haymitch had nicknamed "Bud."

* * *

"Hey," the boy says softly. I can't help but stare. Snow's Roses, he's  _huge_.

Thank goodness for Gamma. She steps forward without hesitation and sticks her hand out. "I'm Gamma," she says, introducing herself. "Gamma Churchill, District Twelve."

The giant's face cracks in a shy smile. "Husker," he says in a soft drawl. "Husker Brown, from District Nine." Her hand all but disappears into his. The giant then turns to me.

"Uhh...Peeta Mellark, also from Twelve," I mutter as I stick my hand out. His grip is strong as he takes my hand in his.

"I know," he says in a soft drawl. "You're the Career from Twelve. I watched you volunteer." He laughs softly. "Made me wonder if you got shit for brains."

I had to laugh along with him. He wasn't trying to be confrontational...he was just saying what was on his mind.

"I gotta tell you," I say softly, "I've wondered the same thing a time or two since the Reaping."

"Excuse me," the instructor says impatiently, "but are we here to learn knots or are we here to socialize?"

We all mutter apologies as we turn to the task of learning knots. The instructor has us follow along as he demonstrates different knots and their uses...the square knot, used for tying two lines of equal size together; the bowline, used for making a loop that won't slip; the double sheet bend, used for tying two lines of unequal size together; the clove hitch, used for lashing a line to a pole; and, the sheepshank, used for strengthening a weak portion of rope. We mimic his actions as we practice the knots. Once again, Gamma displays a surprising ability to master what she's being shown, and spends most of her time helping Husker and I.

After about a half hour of this the instructor moves on to making twitch snares. He shows us the exact snare that Katniss had taught me those many months ago. However, I pretend that I'm seeing it for the very first time, although the instructor does mention how quickly I seem to be picking up on this particular skill. Soon  _I'm_  the one helping Gamma and Husker in building their snares.

As the three of us kneel on a mat, with Husker and Gamma working on a snare while I help, I ask Husker softly, "Where's your District Partner?"

Husker jerks his head to the right slightly. "Over there," he replies, "sittin' against the far wall."

I look in the direction that he indicated, and I see, sitting against the far wall just like Husker had said, a young girl, her knees drawn up to her chin, staring morosely at nothing. Even from this distance I can see tear streaks marking her face.

"She hardly eats, and don't say much of anythin' other'n 'I wanna go home.'" Husker says quietly.

For the first time, I feel a pang of pity for a fellow Tribute. "How old is she, do you know?"

"Fourteen, I think," Husker says. "Damn shame, too. Just her and her momma. She had Tesserae, but she only had nine Slips in the Bowl. Not like me," Husker adds ruefully. "I got two brothers and three sisters,  _plus_ my momma and daddy. I had fifty-four Slips. Odds definitely ain't in my favor this year."

"Guess not," I mutter, as I turn back toward the snare we were building.

But, no matter how hard I try, I can't get the image of the crying girl out of my head.

* * *

Another chime sounds, followed by a mechanical-sounding voice that says, "Lunch break. One hour."

Gamma, Husker and I gratefully stand up, taking a final glance at the snares that we had constructed, before filing into the cafeteria for lunch. Unlike the windowless gymnasium that we had been training in, the cafeteria is bright and cheery, with lots of windows and bright sunshine streaming in. I suddenly realize just how hungry I am.

Gamma and I, accompanied by Husker, move toward the nearest food table. There are tables and carts set up all over the cafeteria, presumably so the Tributes aren't forced into congregating with each other. As we fill our trays, I notice Gamma staring off at a serving station across the room, where the Careers were noisily filling up their own trays.

"That's bullshit," she says softly, her eyes narrowing.

"What, Gamma?" I ask, picking up a container of ice-cold milk.

"Them two," Gamma says, inclining her head toward the pair from Four. "That huggin' they did at Reaping. What they're doin' now. It's all an act."

"How do you know?" Husker asks. "You don't even know them!"

"I just do, farm boy," Gamma replies. "Call it a feelin' or a hunch. But them two ain't as fond of each other as they're playin' it out to be."

I shrug my shoulders. "It doesn't affect us," I say. "Let's eat." We walk to a nearby table and put our trays down, but as we begin to sit, Husker stops, stands upright, and stares across the room, his eyes narrowing.

"'Cuse me," he says suddenly, pushing his chair in. "I'll be right back."

Husker hurries off toward the other side of the cafeteria, where the Careers were congregating, toward a group standing in the middle of the floor. I can see the pair from Two and Aurora, the enigmatic girl from District One, confronting a single, small Tribute, and I realize with a shock that it's Husker's District Partner. She looks near tears and the Careers are all laughing...at her expense, no doubt.

And, from the way that Husker is walking, he intends to do something about it.

I sigh heavily, set my tray down, and turn to follow Husker...but stop when I hear Gamma's voice behind me.

"Stay outta it, Townie."

I don't turn around. "I can't."

"Look, it ain't none o' your business. Stay outta it!" Gamma's words strike a chord in my brain.  _None of your business_. The same phrase that both Katniss and Haymitch had used on me earlier in the day. Well, something  _was_  going on with Katniss that I can do nothing about...at least for now. But I  _can_  do something about what was happening right in front of me.

"No," I say firmly as I begin striding toward Husker, his District Partner, and the group of Careers.

I begin to hear parts of their conversation as I close on them. "- having a little fun. Lighten up, mutt-face!"

"Give it back to her," I hear Husker demand in a low, menacing voice. " _Now._ "

"Or what?" The District Two girl, Lupa, says in a mocking voice. "Or what, mutt-face?"

"What's going on?" I ask conversationally as I reach the group.

The three Careers all turn to face me. Husker is hovering protectively over his District Partner, who's crying softly, clutching a half-empty tray. I glance at the food trays that the Careers are all carrying. Each one has something extra on it, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that their extras came off the District Nine girl's tray.

_This makes absolutely no sense. We can take as much food as we want! Why steal off someone else's tray?_  But, as soon as the thought crosses my mind, I realize that I know the answer.  _They do it because they think they can. They do it because this girl's an easy target. They do it because they're Careers. Well, the Games haven't started yet!_

"Well, well, well," Lexus, the boy from District Two, says mockingly. "Look who it is, guys! The one and only 'Career' from District Twelve!"

"Come to play hero, Twelve?" Aurora asks in a soft voice.

"Not at all," I reply with a smile. "I just got curious as to why you assholes would even think it's fun to pick on a little girl."

"Who?" Lupa asks with a sneer. "Her? Cannon-bait, here?"

"Peeta," Husker says softly, "it's okay. You don't have to -"

"Yeah, Husker, I do." Slowly, deliberately, I reach out and carefully select one item from each of the Careers' trays, depositing each on the crying girls' tray. Out of the corner of my eye I see a trio of Peacekeepers watching us carefully, looking for any signs of an imminent fight. I'm counting on Atala's earlier warning to keep the Careers in line...although, from the expressions on their faces, I can tell that its all they can do to control their anger...with a single exception.

Aurora.

She's watching me with eyes slightly narrowed and an enigmatic half-smile on her face. I make it a point not to look at any of them directly, though...deliberately ignoring them seems to anger Lexus and Lupa even more.

Once I'm finished re-stocking her tray, I bend down and say softly, "See the girl sitting over there?" I point towards Gamma. "Why don't you take your tray over there and sit with us?"

The girl glances over at Gamma, then turns and, without a word, runs to the farthest corner of the cafeteria, where she sits with her back to the wall and begins to morosely pick at her food.

That's when it began.

I'm not sure what table it started at. A solitary Tribute was applauding, slowly at first, but then with more vigor. Another Tribute joined in, followed by another, and another, and yet another, until every Tribute in the cafeteria, with the exception of the Careers' table, was clapping...including Gamma.

I can feel my neck and cheeks flushing with embarrassment as Husker and I walk back to our table. By the time we sit down to finish our lunch, the applause has thankfully stopped.

"Look at you, Townie," Gamma says with a grin, "making friends with the Careers an' shit!"

"You didn't have to do that," Husker says. "Shit, she won't last five minutes once the gong goes off."

"Yeah, Husker, I did," I reply. "I did because you did. I did because it sucks enough being here without a bunch of assholes making it worse for her."

We eat in silence for a few minutes before Husker speaks again. "I appreciate it, even though it was futile." I glance over at him and see him suddenly stiffen, his eyes narrowing as he glares at something behind us. As I turn I can see a similar reaction from Gamma as well. Their reaction is perfectly understandable when I see what caused it.

Aurora Chamberlain is standing just a couple of steps from our table, wearing the same little half-smile that she displayed earlier. Husker gets up so quickly he knocks his chair over. I stand also, a little slower, and place one hand on his arm.

"What the  _fuck_  do you want?" Gamma snarls, even as Aurora puts her hands up and out in front of her.

"Easy, big guy," she says to Husker. "I'm not looking for trouble."

"Like she said," Husker replies, nodding his head toward Gamma, "what the fuck do you want?"

Aurora slowly lowers her hands. "I just wanted to say that you've got some pretty big balls...both of you," she adds, nodding at me. "You'll both be worthy opponents in the arena...unlike the majority of cannon-bait in here." Aurora looks pointedly at Gamma as she says the last, earning an extended middle finger for her troubles.

"Anything else?" I ask evenly.

Aurora rubs her chin thoughtfully. "Hmmm. Nope. That's it." As she turns to walk back to the Careers Table, she glances over her shoulder at us. "See you in training, boys."

Husker picks up his chair as I settle back into mine. As Husker sits back down, Gamma leans forward and says, "She's scared. I could feel it."

I look at her skeptically. "She sure wasn't acting scared."

"Trust me," Gamma replies. "She's afraid, and she ain't used to being afraid. Her comin' over to talk shit was a front."

As we sit and eat the rest of our lunch in silence, one thing is becoming increasingly clear to me.

Gamma Churchill is much more complex than I originally thought.

* * *

My feeling about Gamma was reinforced shortly after we returned to training. Husker and his District Partner were pulled away for a compulsory exercise. Gamma and I decided to start with the camouflage station.

Gamma was a total fish out of water at the camouflage station. I, on the other hand, was in my element. Using the different shades of mud as well as juices from a variety of crushed berries, I quickly paint my left arm and hand to resemble first the bark of a tree, then a grayish-colored rock. Gamma was suitably impressed with both displays.

"Where'd you learn that?" She asks, even as my hand seems to melt into the gray rock.

I grin. "Decorating cakes at my families' bakery." I feel a little twinge of something...homesickness again?...but it passes quickly.

The instructor was impressed with my skills also, and she shows Gamma and I different techniques to mix natural substances to achieve the results we were looking for. Gamma was busy smearing some foul-smelling concoction on her face in an effort to blend into a leafy bush when it happened.

It started out as shouting, coming from the general direction of the spear and trident station. I glance over; at first thinking it was just more Career boisterousness, until I see one Career bodily shove another away violently. The shouting quickly escalates as Careers jump in from both sides, physically restraining the two would-be combatants. It was at that time that I realize with shock that the two that had almost come to blows were the District Four pair, Ishmael and Thalassa.

The pair that had hugged each other after the Reaping in District Four...that looked so solid together...now looked as though they wanted the Games to begin right then and there. Gamma and I both watch as the other Careers, and then Peacekeepers, keep the two, still shouting at each other, separate.

We weren't the only ones watching the display. Every other Tribute in the gymnasium had stopped what they were doing and was watching, as well as a handful of Gamemakers that were circulating around on the floor. I glance up at the Gamemakers Gallery and see that the Gamemakers up there were all gathered at the railing and were watching intently as well.

"Didn't I tell you all that lovey-dovey act was a bunch of shit?" Gamma asks smugly.

"Yeah," I say thoughtfully. "You did. The question is,  _how_  did you know?"

Gamma shrugs her skinny shoulders. "I dunno. I just knew."

"Like you know that Aurora is scared of us," I add.

"She is," Gamma says firmly. "I  _know_ she is!"

I step over to a wash station and begin cleaning the camouflage off of me. Gamma joins me after a moment, scrubbing her face vigorously.

"What about Husker?" I ask suddenly. "How do you feel about him?"

"I like him," Gamma replies instantly. "I can trust him."

"How about me?" I ask cautiously.

Gamma regards me coolly for a moment. "You're okay," she finally says. "I can trust you, too. Even if you are fucking insane and have some sorta crazy death wish."

The chime sounds, signaling the end of the training hour, followed by a metallic voice that says, "District One and District Twelve Tributes, please report to Atala for compulsory training and evaluation."

I toss the towel into a nearby hamper. "That's us," I say. It was easy enough to spot Atala. She was standing on one side of the gymnasium, near a series of vertical rope nets and climbing ropes.

As Gamma and I walk over to the Agility Station, I turn to her and say, "I think we've found your skill. You can read people like a book."

Gamma just shakes her head. "As if that's gonna help me."

I just smile. That was something no one else in here has...and I'm sure it will be a big help.

* * *

The Agility Compulsories consisted mainly of different climbing tests. We shimmied up poles, rope ladders, ropes, and rope nets. I did okay with the poles and ropes...my upper body strength managed to compensate for my overall lack of true agility. Rope ladders and nets were another story. The ladders had a bad habit of suddenly flipping me over on my back, but somehow I was able to stay on and muscle my way to the top, and then climb back down again. The rope nets were impossible. Like the ladders, they were unstable...but, unlike the ladders, I wasn't able to muscle my way to the top. Time and again I would end up hanging upside down, gasping for breath, only to lose my grip and end up hanging upside down...or worse, falling to the mats below.

Of course, Gamma turns out to be half monkey. Her wiry muscles had no problem supporting her skinny frame. She scampered up and down the poles, ropes, ladders, and nets like she'd been doing it her whole life.

I managed to keep tabs on the two District One Tributes, Aurora and Silver, as they went through their Compulsories. Although neither was quite as agile as Gamma had turned out to be, neither of them was as inept on the ladders or nets as I was...a fact that seemed to amuse them to no end.

I land on the mat with a gasp and a grunt, picking myself up slowly and painfully. I glare at the net in frustration. Gamma is standing off to one side, watching me. She's completed her testing and is slowly wiping her face and arms with a towel. Aurora and Silver are also finished with their testing. Aurora smirks at me as they walk by.

"Oooh," Silver says mockingly. "That's gonna hurt in the morning, 'Career.'"

I shift my glare from the net to the backs of the two Careers as they go to rejoin their pack. "Fuck you," I mutter softly.

"Come on, Peeta," Atala says softly. "Once more. You almost made the top last time."

I limp to the net, take a deep breath, grab the ropes, and begin to climb. Halfway up the net begins to sway. I try to compensate as it suddenly flips under me. I lock my arms and legs around the ropes and wait for the net to stop moving, but, as soon as it's still, the second I begin to move the net moves also.

"Not this time," I grunt between clenched teeth. I continue to climb, slowly, painfully, until suddenly my feet slip out from under me, I dangle helplessly by my hands, and then I drop to the mat below with a loud thump.

I groan in frustration as I painfully pick myself up. Gamma's watching me closely, concern written on her face.

"I'm okay," I grunt. But I wasn't okay. I was embarrassed...and angry. On the other side of the gymnasium the Careers were all having a good laugh at my expense. Trying to ignore them, I set my jaw firmly and step up to the net one more time.

Atala steps forward, laying a hand gently on my arm. "That's enough," she says quietly. "Your score has been recorded." She must have seen the look in my eyes, because she quickly adds, "Don't worry. Compulsories only count for a small fraction of your overall training score. Go on, now...you still have a lot of time left today."

I nod, mutter "Thanks," and limp away, Gamma trotting up to join me. The Careers were still laughing and pointing towards me. I can feel my anger continue to rise.

"Where to now?" Gamma asks. I don't answer immediately. Instead, I continue to limp away from the Agility station, my glare fixed on the Careers.

Gamma grabs my arm and whirls me around to face her. "Hey!" She barks, glaring at me, "Shake it off! This is only day one! You can't get pissed every time something don't go your way!"

"It's not that!" I snap. "It's those assholes laughing at me!" I easily pull my arm free from Gamma's grip and begin to move purposefully toward a weight station.

"Shit!" Gamma trots after me. "And just what do you think you are gonna do about it?"

I reach the weights and turn back toward her. "I'm gonna shut them up," I say with a grim smile. "Stand back."

The Careers, still chuckling, are now eying me curiously as I grasp the handle on one of the largest weights...a spherical object whose labeling indicates that it weighs fifty kilos. I tighten my grip and, with a grunt, lift it off the floor with a jerk. Holding the massive weight in one hand, I step up onto a raised platform and swing the weight back and forth several times, all the while glaring at the assembled Careers.

"Laugh at  _this_ , assholes!" I shout as I bring my arm back a final time, and then hurl the weight toward the Careers. They all jump back in alarm as the weight flies toward them, crashing into a rack holding a dozen or so spears. The rack topples over with the force of the impact, scattering spears in every direction.

The laughter abruptly ceases as the Careers stare at the rack, the weight, and the spears. Breathing heavily, I step down from the platform, Gamma stepping up to join me as I glare at the Careers one final time.

"What's the matter?" I call out. "Not funny enough for you?"

Gamma grabs my arm and leads me toward the "how to find water" station. "So tell me," she mutters as we walk, "do you plan on antagonizin' the Careers  _every_  day, or is today special?"

"They deserved it," I reply calmly.

Gamma shakes her head. "At the rate you're goin' you're gonna have every Career gunnin' for you when the gong sounds."

I smile tightly. "Well, that'll give everyone else a better chance, then, right?" But secretly I hope that I haven't overplayed my hand. It'll be tough enough if I have to deal with one or two Careers at the bloodbath...and impossible if I have to take on all six.

**PART III**

"Peeta," Cinna says with a smile as I emerge from my room following a much-needed shower. "Do you have a minute? There's something I want to show you."

"Sure," I reply. Cinna leads me to a nondescript door at the far end of the Penthouse. He opens it and ushers me inside. I can see that there's nothing there but a stairway leading to another floor overhead.

I turn back toward Cinna. "Where's this go?" I ask.

"The roof," he explains. "There's a garden up there. It's a nice place to go if you just want a little privacy. Only the Penthouse has access to it. I'm surprised Katniss didn't tell you about this. She and Gale spent a lot of time up there last year."

Gale. Katniss and Gale alone on the roof. Idly, I wonder if he told her how he felt about her...or if she even suspected until his confession in the arena.

"Katniss didn't say anything to me," I reply tersely. "We aren't exactly...talking a whole lot."

"Oh?" Cinna raises one eyebrow at this revelation. "Well, perhaps she mentioned it to Gamma. No matter, there it is...available to you whenever you like."

"Thanks, Cinna," I say gratefully. It's nice knowing that there is a refuge that I can escape to if I feel the need to get away. In a way, I hope that Gamma doesn't know about this...I'm not sure if I want to share it with her or not just yet.

Cinna and I step back into the Penthouse just seconds before Gamma emerges from her room. Literally at the same time, Haymitch and Effie return to the Penthouse. Katniss is nowhere in sight, and I have a nagging suspicion that she's somewhere, attending to more "Games Business.

My fears proved, at least this time, to be unfounded. Katniss and Portia arrive together, about a minute after Haymitch and Effie, and both were carrying shopping bags. Haymitch and Effie had been asking Gamma and I about our first training day when Katniss and Portia walked in.

"Clothes shopping, Sweetheart?" Haymitch asks with a smirk. "I never would have thought that you would go in for the latest in Capitol fashion. Portia, you're corrupting her!"

"No, she's not," Katniss replies quietly. "I mean, this stuff isn't for me. It's for Prim. Portia met up with me after lunch and helped pick out some things."

"She's  _clothes_  shoppin' while we're  _trainin'_?" Gamma whispers.

"Think about it," I whisper back. "It's only the first day. I doubt that Haymitch or Katniss have a whole lot to do while we're training." Still, Gamma looks unconvinced.

"And how was lunch?" Cinna asks.

"Really good," Katniss replies. "Finnick, Cashmere, and Johanna went also." Katniss smiles ruefully and shakes her hand. "I got a cramp from all the autographs I signed."

"The price of fame," Haymitch says dryly. "Speaking of food, let's have dinner." He looks at me pointedly. "I'm just  _dying_  to hear how training went today."

As we all headed off to the dining room, I decided that Haymitch already knew how training went...he just wants to hear my side of what happened. I'm sure he will let me know  _exactly_  what he thinks about it, also...just as I'm sure that I won't like it.

And, as it so happened, I was right.

* * *

"Let me be as clear as I can possibly be here," Haymitch is saying in a deadly calm tone of voice. "You are not to taunt the Careers. You are not to provoke the Careers. You are not to bait, trash talk, or harass the Careers in any way. Am I making myself clear?"

"But, Haymitch," I protest, "what they were doing to that girl -"

"- is none of your concern," Haymitch finishes. "You have your own problems. Boy, it's one thing to volunteer for the Games. But I'll be damned if I let you volunteer to be the first casualty at the bloodbath...because that's exactly what you're doing. Shit, boy, you  _want_  to be a target of all  _six_  Careers as soon as you're launched? It's bad enough they hung this "District Twelve Career" bullshit around your neck!"

I stare back at my Mentor sullenly. "And another thing," Haymitch continues. "You're dragging Gamma into all this, too. Guilt by association...ever hear that term? If I hear of just one more incident where you go outta your way to fuck with any of the Careers, and you can find yourself another Mentor. Got that?"

Stubbornly, I say nothing. "I said, 'got that?'" Haymitch repeats. "And the only response that I will accept from you is, 'yes, Haymitch.' Try it."

"Yes, Haymitch," I mutter.

Haymitch smiles triumphantly. "Good boy. Okay, I'm done with you."

"I have a question," I suddenly say. Haymitch looks at me inquiringly. "I thought that Mentors weren't told what their Tributes were doing during Training."

"Let's just say that I have my sources," Haymitch replies mysteriously, "and we'll leave it at that. Now run along. I have to talk to Katniss."

I push myself away from the table with a sigh. Katniss looks up at me impassively, and then turns to face Haymitch. For a moment I think about heading to the roof, but then Portia re-enters the room and asks to speak with me.

"It's about your suit for the Interviews," Portia explains. "Cinna and I want to incorporate items that reflect your individual likes, such as favorite colors, that sort of thing."

Portia and I talk about this subject for a few minutes.  _Who cares what my Interview suit_   _looks like_? I'm sure that both Cinna and Portia would be able to make both Gamma and I look great, no matter what our input is. Thankfully, Portia doesn't take too long. I really want to speak to Gamma before it gets too much later.

After Portia finishes with me, I head straight for Gamma's room and rap on the door lightly.

"Who is it?" I hear her voice faintly on the other side of the door.

"Peeta," I reply softly.

After a moments' hesitation, Gamma comes to the door and opens it a crack. "What?"

"I need to talk to you," I say.

"So talk." Gamma is eying me suspiciously.

"Not here," I say. "Did Cinna tell you about the roof?"

Gamma shakes her head. "No. What about it?"

"We have access to it," I explain. "Cinna says there's a garden up there and everything. And it's perfect for talking in private."

Gamma seems to think about this for a moment. Finally, she says, "Okay. Give me a couple of minutes. I'll meet you in the living room."

"Okay," I say, but the door has already closed. I shrug my shoulders and head back out into the common area of the Penthouse. As I do I can hear quiet voices coming from a smaller room off the main living room...a semi-private area that Effie calls the "drawing room," whatever that is.

Portia and Cinna were already gone. Effie excused herself after dinner to attend some sort of Escorts meeting. The only ones left in here were the Tributes and the Mentors. That meant that Haymitch and Katniss were the ones talking in the "drawing room."

I didn't mean to eavesdrop...well, maybe I did. I just was curious as to what they were talking about. I was sure it was about Gamma, or me, or both of us.

I was wrong.

The first person I heard was Haymitch. "- get a chance to talk to Finnick alone?"

"Yeah," Katniss replies softly.

"And?" Haymitch again. "Did it help?"

A pause. "I don't know. I guess."

"Sweetheart, he's been doing this for years," Haymitch is saying. "And Cashmere even longer. Give 'em a chance. They'll help you through this if you just let them."

I hear Katniss laugh bitterly. "'Help me through it.' That's a fucking laugh. No pun intended."

"Sweetheart -"

"The life of a Victor," Katniss continues in the same bitter tone. "Riches, luxury, fame. If I had  _any_  idea what it's  _really_  like I would've let Clove kill me."

"You don't mean that," Haymitch says gently.

Another pause. "Shit. You're right. I  _do_  this for Prim. It's all  _for Prim_." Katniss chokes off a sob. I suddenly feel sick to my stomach.

Months ago, Prim had told me of Katniss's new nightmares, and how she would cry out, "For Prim!" I've heard enough. I creep away as silently as I can, my knees shaking. I now finally know what Katniss has been doing "for Prim." And Haymitch was so right.

I didn't want to know.

* * *

"Wow," is all Gamma can say once we were on the roof.

The early summer sun was just setting over the mountains to the west of the Capitol. Here, thirteen floors above the city, the view was stunning...magnificent even. Gamma walks to the edge of the roof, protected only by an easily scalable guardrail.

"I wonder if any Tribute's have ever tried jumping?" She asks, and reaches her hand over the rail. There's a loud crackling sound, a flash of light, and Gamma jerks her hand back, shaking it vigorously.

"Son of a bitch!" Gamma glares at the rail. "That hurt!"

"Well, there's your answer," I say with a smile. "They have a force field on here. Couldn't jump if you wanted to."

"So, what did you want to talk to me about?" Gamma asks impatiently.

I take a deep breath. "I'll get to the point. Do you want to be allies?"

Gamma looks at me strangely. "Me? You want  _me_  as an ally?"

"Yeah," I reply simply. "I do."

Gamma looks at me thoughtfully. "Why?"

"You said that Ishmael and Thalassa weren't the united couple that they pretended to be, and you turned out to be right," I reply. "You said that Aurora is afraid of me, and, when I think about it, I'll bet you're right about that too. You nailed Husker as a trustworthy person. You said that I'm trustworthy, and I already  _know_  that I am. You can  _read_  people, Gamma! Do you know how valuable that'll be in the Games?"

"Yeah, and when I'm no use to you anymore?" Gamma asks. "What then?"

"Gamma, look at me," I say urgently. "I give you my word. I will not hurt you or kill you. That's a promise."

Gamma says nothing for a few moments, but instead just stares at me.  _She's reading me right now,_  I realize with a chill...it's almost like she's digging into my brain...no, my very soul.

"Okay," she says finally, sticking out her hand. "Allies."

We shake firmly. "I just had a thought," I say as we shake hands. "What about you? Will you promise the same thing?"

"Of course," she says, surprised. "But," she adds, "you'll just have to take my word for it."

"Fair enough," I say.

"You want to talk to me about something else," she says. It's not a question. It's a statement.

"Yes," I reply. "Husker. I think we should ask him to be our ally as well."

"I agree," Gamma says instantly.

"That was quick," I comment.

Gamma smiles. "I already knew he was good."

"I guess you did," I say. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Gamma replies. "No guarantees that I'll give you an answer, though."

"Okay," I say. "Does this...thing you do, reading people, I mean...does it work all the time?"

"I have to be calm," Gamma replies. "It don't work if I'm angry or upset."

"So, right after Reaping -" I begin.

"- I was too pissed to read anything," Gamma says. "In fact, there's still times now that I can't."

"We'll just have to work on keeping you calm," I say with a grin. "Come on, let's go back downstairs."

As we descended the stairs for the Penthouse, I reflected that now I had one confirmed, and possibly two, allies.  _Like Haymitch said, I have to sleep sometime._

I sleep very soundly that night.

**PART IV**

For the next few days, training was pretty much uneventful. I did exactly what Haymitch said to do, and not bait the Careers. That, of course, didn't mean that the Careers left us alone.

They didn't wait long. At lunch on day two I was sitting with Gamma and Husker. Husker had agreed to an alliance with Gamma and I earlier in the day. Training had gone well that morning...edible plants, shelter making, fishing, and how to clean small game...and, for the first time since my arrival here, I actually felt a little relaxed. We were making small talk over lunch...mostly comparing districts...when the Careers showed up.

I was facing away from them so I didn't see them coming. Gamma was the first to spot them, followed by Husker. Neither said anything outright, but the sudden silence and the sullen stares told me everything that I needed to know. I slowly turn around in my chair to face them.

It was the three girls...Aurora, Lupa, and Thalassa. I slowly and deliberately rise from my chair. "What do you want?" I ask in a flat voice.

"Easy, Twelve," Aurora says. "We come in peace."

Gamma coughs suddenly. It suspiciously sounds like the word "bullshit."

Lupa glares at Gamma, but Aurora seems not to have noticed. "We just want to talk. Give me two minutes."

I quickly glance at Husker, who nods his head, and Gamma, who just shrugs her shoulders, before replying. "Go ahead."

"It's like this," Aurora says. "We've talked it over, and we've decided to invite you two -" she points to Husker and I "- into our alliance."

"Just us two?" I ask.

"Just you two," Lupa repeats. She looks at Gamma with a sneer. "Not you, cannon-bait. You'd only slow us down."

In response, Gamma calmly extends her middle finger toward Lupa, who just smiles unpleasantly.

"Why do you want us?" I ask, feigning interest.

"It's pretty obvious that you two are the strongest boys here," Thalassa replies. "Outside of our alliance, of course."

"Of course," I agree with a smile. "And, of course, if we joined you, it would make it all that much easier for you to kill us...either at the bloodbath or while we slept."

The three girls actually looked shocked when I said this. "On my honor, I would never do that to either of you," Lupa protests.

"First of all," I reply calmly, "your 'honor' doesn't mean shit to me...or to Husker. Secondly, I decline your invitation, thanks just the same."

"I must say I'm shocked," Aurora says with a little half-smile. "After all, you're a 'Career' in everything but district. You're just like us, and -"

"I'm nothing like you," I say flatly. "I didn't volunteer looking for glory. I did it because it was my only chance at penance. You 'Careers,' on the other hand, are a bunch of sick psychopaths that think it's honorable to kill a fourteen year old child."

Lupa bristles at this. "So what are you saying? Are you saying you won't kill?"

"I didn't say that at all," I reply. "But if I kill, it's because I have to. You kill because you want to."

"Well," Aurora says with a tight smile, "I guess we have your answer." She turns to Husker. "How about it, mutt-face? Are you in?"

Husker looks blankly at the three girls, and then jerks a thumb at me. "What he said."

Aurora shakes her head sadly. "You're making a huge mistake, boys. But, it's your funeral. Come on, ladies."

The trio turns to go, but then Lupa spins around and leans down towards Gamma, who shrinks away slightly.

"Scared, bitch?" Lupa hisses. "You better be. Before I kill you, I'm gonna chop off that finger that you love to wave in our faces and force it down your throat!"

Gamma's response is to screw up her face in disgust. "What do you brush your teeth with? Dog shit?"

I thought Lupa was going to ignore the 'no fighting' rule then and there, until Aurora grabs her shoulder firmly. "Come on."

We watch as the three girls return to the Careers table. Husker turns to me, a grin on his face.

"'Psychopath?' Where the hell did you get that?" He asks.

"Haymitch...my Mentor...has a huge library. It was in one of his books," I explain.

"Oh, yeah," Husker says. "I heard something about you working for him or something like that."

"Yeah, something like that," I reply. I don't offer up the information that I was living with him, and had been for months before the Reaping.

"I wish they would stop with the 'mutt-face' cracks," Husker mutters, rubbing his hand over his rapidly fading acne. He notices Gamma and I watching him. "My Stylist gave me a shot," he explains. "During Prep. It's clearing this shit right up. He said he wants me looking my best for the Interviews."

_And you'll make a nice looking corpse_ , I say to myself, and I'm immediately ashamed. Instead I say, "That's their job. Making us look good."

"Cinna has his work cut out on me, then," Gamma says with a bitter laugh.

"I don't know about that," Husker says shyly. "I think you're pretty."

"Shut up!" Gamma snaps. "I know I ain't pretty."

"Yeah," Husker says quietly. "You are."

"Gamma," I say with a grin, "are you  _blushing_?"

"Fuck you, Townie!" Gamma snaps as she tries to hide her face. I had to agree with Husker. Cinna has done a good job on Gamma. She wasn't beautiful...not anywhere like Katniss...but she certainly wasn't ugly, either. And having enough to eat for the first time in her life was helping, too.

Any further discussion on this would have to wait, however. The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch and for us to resume training. Husker, Gamma and I rise from our table and file toward the cafeteria exit, along with the other Tributes. As we walk, Gamma drops back to my side.

"Ain't no one called me 'pretty' in over six years," she says quietly. "Not since my Daddy, before he died."

I didn't reply. I didn't because I didn't trust myself to speak around the lump that suddenly rises up in my throat.

* * *

"What did you mean earlier?" Husker asks. "When you mentioned penance?"

We're taking a short break while waiting for the knife throwing station to open up. I didn't want to be here, but Husker wanted to try it, and Gamma chimed in and said that she did, too...so here we are.

"What do you mean?" I ask Husker.

"At lunch, you said you volunteered because it was your only chance at penance," Husker says. "But penance means that you're trying to atone for something that you did wrong. Did you do something wrong back in Twelve?"

"No," I reply slowly. "I didn't do anything wrong. The problem is, a lot of people back there think I did. And for them, that's enough." I decide not to get into the whole issue with me possibly going to the mines, and choosing a quick death in the arena over a slow, painful Miner's Cough death. Husker had worked the fields in District Nine since he was eight years old. The fields were the District Nine equivalent to the mines...minus the Miner's Cough, of course. He wouldn't understand...and neither would Gamma, who was facing her own life sentence to the mines once she turned eighteen and was cast out of the Community Home.

"But...well, you're probably gonna die," Husker points out. "What good is penance if you ain't around to see it?"

"In that case, I won't know any better, will I?" I reply.

"Townie here ain't plannin' on dyin', though, Husker," Gamma chimes in with a smile. "He believes all that 'District Twelve Career' crap. He thinks he's actually gonna win this thing!"

"I think you got a good chance, Peeta," Husker says sincerely.

Thank goodness the knife-throwing instructor called for us to come forward at that time. It saved me from having to respond to Husker's comment.

For the next hour, the three of us practice throwing knives. I make an effort to look bad. And, while we toss blade after blade at different targets, I reflect on my relationship with both Gamma and Husker.

I realize with a shock that I've come to like both Gamma and Husker...that, in the space of a few days, I've come to think of them as my friends. I have no idea how they think of me, but one thing is certain.

It's going to hurt having to watch them both die...assuming, of course, that I'm still alive to watch in the first place.

* * *

The last couple of training days pass quickly. Haymitch asks if the Careers made any overtures toward me regarding joining their alliance, and I truthfully told him "yes," but that I declined. I did not go into any detail.

Husker brought up a good point one day when he pointed out that there are only six Careers and eighteen other Tributes, and he wondered why the non-Career Tributes never banded together in the beginning to fight and overwhelm the Careers by their three to one advantage. I asked Haymitch about it that night. In theory it sounds logical. But, as Haymitch points out, in practice it would never work.

"Kid, the Careers have trained for  _years_  for the Games. They know how to fight and how to kill. They're lethal the second they step off their Tribute trains. Your average district Tribute was Reaped,  _not_  a Volunteer like the Careers, is malnourished, and is not very strong to begin with. Sure, there are exceptions...Katniss last year, along with Thresh; and you along with Husker this year. But those are rare. Hell, Husker's district partner won't even train! Sure, you might be able to convince a few about your 'Strength in Numbers' plan, but I guarantee that would fall apart the second one of your 'Anti-Career Army' gets cut down by a Career. The rest would panic and run."

I had to admit that I couldn't find any holes in his argument.

Husker, Gamma and I spend most of our time at the survival stations, only paying lip service to the combat stations...and when we do go to a combat station, I avoid knives and hand-to-hand combat like the plague. It would be too easy to slip up and show everyone that I have considerable skill with both forms of fighting.

So, we take instruction in spear throwing (none of us can do much with a spear), sword fighting (Husker, surprisingly, seems very comfortable with swinging a blade. "All those years of swinging a sickle are finally paying off," he says with a grin), and we even try our hand at using bow and arrow.

Even after going through the bow and arrow station three times, I can safely report that Katniss has nothing to worry about. My archery skills are virtually non-existent.

In the Compulsories, I did really well on the Strength and Endurance Stations, and reasonably well on Intelligence. Husker did really well on Strength, not so good on Endurance, and poorly on Intelligence.

"Mama and Daddy always said that it don't take a genius to work the Tesserae fields," Husker remarks ruefully when he shares his Intelligence test scores with us.

Gamma, as expected, did poorly on Strength and Endurance. What was a total shock was the fact that she ended up with the highest Intelligence score out of all twenty-four Tributes. Gamma, not surprisingly, downplayed the results.

"What'm I supposed t' do...think someone to death?"

She wasn't fooling me. I knew that her score secretly pleased her.

Training is almost over. Haymitch tells me that, for a "normal" Games, the Gamemakers begin their Individual Assessments of each Tribute on the third day of training. But this year, with the Third Quarter Quell, they decided to allow four full days of training and dedicate the fifth day to evaluating and assessing the Tributes.

The Gamemakers would evaluate four Tributes an hour. Each Tribute would be given fifteen minutes to display his or her skills to the Gamemakers. The Gamemakers would then assign a Training Score on a scale of zero to twelve to each Tribute. The higher the score, the more chances for Sponsors...although this year we would most likely have to fight for our Sponsor gifts.

There was one effect of the scoring system that was not discussed...betting. Placing bets on Tributes was as popular as the actual Games were among the Capitolites. Higher training scores generally meant better odds. And the Capitolites bet on everything...first Tribute to die, first Tribute to be killed by a mutt, last Tribute to die in the bloodbath...everything.

It was worse than disgusting. It was inhuman.

Back to the evaluations. The Gamemakers would begin evaluating Tributes at nine on day five. The evaluations are conducted in district order, so District One would go first, followed by Two, and so on. There would be a one-hour break for lunch, with evaluations resuming at one. That meant that Gamma and I wouldn't be called until late afternoon. Once evaluations were completed the Tribute could return to quarters.

Haymitch and Katniss briefed Gamma and I the night before the evaluations. "Peeta, I know what you're capable of," Haymitch had said. "Show your strengths. Make an impression. Make the Gamemakers remember you."

Katniss had looked solemnly at Gamma. "I know you scored well on Agility. Climb the ropes. Spend as much time as possible over their heads. Emphasize that if they can't catch you -" at this Katniss's voice caught just a little "- they can't kill you. Like Haymitch said, make an impression."

Ever since that first day, Katniss had been much more involved in our training...or, at least, Gamma's training, as she pretty much ignored me. Her "Games Business" calls had all but ceased. She was beginning to relax and even smile more.

"She ain't so bad," Gamma had said one night on the roof. "She told me she remembers me from...before...you know, the accident. I didn't think she remembered." Gamma had paused then for a moment. "She told me she was sorry to hear about my brother. Ain't no one ever told me they was sorry about him until she did."

That was a couple of nights ago. Today is Evaluation Day.

* * *

Gamma and I sit together, waiting nervously. We had been allowed to leave the waiting area only once...at lunch...and that had been supervised. Other than that brief break, we have been locked up in here since before nine this morning.

Gamma and I are the last two. Once the Gamemakers Assessment is done, we are to return to our quarters. Tonight, the scores will be announced. Tomorrow is Interview Prep Day, where our Mentors and our Escort will coach us in what to say and how to act in the three whole minutes that we will have with Caesar Flickerman during the Interviews, which is the next night. The day after that is Launch Day.

The day the Games actually start.

I was so lost in thought that I actually jumped when my name was called. "Peeta Mellark." The voice sounded mechanical...artificial. I stand up and wipe my suddenly sweaty hands on my pants and take a deep breath. This is it.

"Townie," Gamma says softly. I turn around. She gives me a thumbs up. "Good luck."

"Thanks," I reply just as softly. "You too. Make...make them remember you."

In response, she nods and smiles tightly. I turn and open the door to the gymnasium and, with another deep breath, step through.

* * *

The place looks deserted. Then I remember that the only other times I have ever been in here it was filled with Tributes, Instructors, and Peacekeepers. I glance nervously at the Gamemakers Gallery. I had overheard Katniss telling Gamma that, by this time, the Gamemakers were all tired of watching Tributes, and that she had actually fired an arrow into the Gallery, shooting an apple out of the mouth of a roast pig.

I don't think that will work for me this year. The rumor was that there's a force field in place that covers the entire Gallery.

I stride into the gymnasium, stopping in front of the Gallery. "Peeta Mellark," I announce. "District Twelve. May I have a hand-to-hand partner, please?"

A man that I recognize as Seneca Crane, the Head Gamemaker, nods and says something to a Gamemaker standing next to him. Seconds later, a hand-to-hand partner strides into the gymnasium, heading straight for the mats. I walk to the mats also.

The partner walks over to me and hands me a mouth guard. "Sure you want to do this, kid?" He asks. I remember him from training...when I was holding back. I nod and slip the mouth guard into my mouth. "Okay," he says. "It's your funeral. I'll do my best to make you look good."

In response I walk to the center of the mat and assume my wrestler's crouch. The partner's eyebrows go up but he says nothing as he walks to his position at the center of the mat...and then, without warning, charges directly at me.

I was surprised by the suddenness of his attack, and then realize that this was totally freestyle. There are no rules in the arena. I have to expect the unexpected. Still, I was only able to side step and dance out of the way.

He doesn't hesitate, but whirls and attacks again. I had barely set my feet when he was on me. I counter by coming in low, avoiding his grasping arms and driving my shoulder into his chest, then grappling him, my feet driving into the mat as I regain my center of gravity and drive him down into the mat.

With my forearm against his throat I quickly pin him. He taps me once on my shoulder and I let him up immediately, springing to my feet and dancing away from him. The partner picks himself up and looks at me warily.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb, here," he says, "and say that this ain't your first time on a mat."

"Placed first in the district," I reply with a grin. The partner attacks again, suddenly. We crash together, each of us trying to get an advantage, when the partner does something totally unexpected.

He hits me.

I should have expected it but I didn't. It was only luck that I saw it coming a split second before it landed. As it was, it grazed my head and even that incidental contact made me see stars for a few seconds.

No holds barred. I bring my knee up viciously, driving toward his crotch, and he manages to partially block it at the last second with his thigh. He grunts with the force of impact and works a hand free, placing it on my face and forcing my head back. I'm forced to break contact and we both step back, breathing hard.

I don't let him catch his breath. I feint to his left and attack straight on. The partner fell for the feint and I quickly closed while he is still off-balance, sweeping his leg with my right foot while punching him solidly in the chest with my right fist. It worked. He hits the mat with a crash.

I step back and, while he's still picking himself up off the mat, I close again, grappling him and forcing him back to the mat. He wiggles around, trying to find leverage, someplace to grab,  _anything_ , but I don't let him. I'm on top of him now, forcing my forearm against the side of his head, bending his neck in an unnatural angle as I increase the pressure ever so slightly.

The partner immediately taps out. Breathing hard, I jump to my feet and step back. I allow the partner to rise. He eyes me warily, rubbing his neck. "Forget about me makin' you look good, kid," he says with a rueful smile. " _You_ just made  _me_  look bad."

I return his smile and spit out the mouth guard. "Thanks," I say as we shake hands. As the partner departs, I glance up at the Gallery quickly. I have a rapt audience now, with Seneca Crane in the forefront. He takes a swallow of wine from a large goblet that he's clutching, and says, "Do you have anything more to show, Mr. Mellark?"

"Yes, sir," I reply, walking over to the knife throwing station. Without hesitation, I reach down, grab the first knife that I see, pick out a target...a bulls-eye about five meters away, cock my arm back...throw...and miss.

_Clang!_  The knife bounces harmlessly to the ground. "Shit," I mutter as I try to ignore the ripple of laughter from the Gallery. I can almost hear Goat Man yelling at me.  _Focus, kid! Concentrate!_  Another deep breath, another knife...and the satisfaction of seeing it sink into the same bulls-eye, three fingers from the center.

_Focus. Concentrate._  I grab another knife, and fling it at a mannequin to my right.  _Thunk_. Right in the throat. Another knife, to a mannequin to my left.  _Thunk_. Center chest. A third mannequin, a long throw...ten meters.  _Thunk._ Right in the chest. I mutter to myself...I was aiming for the head. I throw again, same mannequin.  _Thunk_. In the head this time. I pick up three knives, picking out three bulls-eye targets at five meters, left to right.  _Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._  Three knives, three seconds, three solid hits.

I step back, this time to a faint, but unmistakable, ripple of applause from the Gallery. "You have five minutes remaining, Mr. Mellark," Seneca Crane says. I glance up at him. His face was set in an impassive mask.

"I would like a knife fighting partner, please," I announce. Seneca nods, turns once again to the Gamemaker standing at his side, and, seconds later, my new partner steps out. Again, this was one that I did not impress during training. He eyes me impassively and asks, "One blade or two?"

"Two," I reply. Wordlessly he hands me a pair of training blades. Equal in weight to a real knife, their blades are dull but leave a florescent red line if one slashes you. Likewise, the points are blunt, but will leave a bright florescent mark indicating a "hit," or stab wound.

I grasp the hilts the way Goat Man taught me...points toward my elbows, knives resting on my wrists, blade sides out. Goat Man and I had practiced this same technique hundreds of times. The only difference between then and now was that we were using  _real_  knives in sheaths.

The partner and I circle each other warily before the partner strikes with both blades. I parry both strikes fairly easily and dance out of the way. I see the partner's eyebrows go up in surprise, then he suddenly feints to my right, then my left, then whirls around, his blade streaking toward my throat.

I bend out of the way, my left arm coming up, catching his blade on mine as my right blade flashes up, drawing a solid red line across his arm. The partner grunts and disengages, dancing back out of the reach of my blades.

"Okay, kid," he mutters. "Play time is over." The partner attacks again, and for about thirty seconds its parry, slash, and thrust...parry, counter-parry, lunge, and slash. Neither of us is able to force an advantage. Both of us are fighting a primarily defensive battle...until he makes a mistake.

The partner lunges at me and is off balance for a split second. I block his return slash with my left arm and counter, drawing my blade across his exposed throat, the fluorescent red line standing out boldly, and then reversing and driving the point into the opposite side of his neck.

"Time, Mr. Mellark," Seneca Crane says from the Gallery. Both of us breathing hard, I step away from the partner, who collects up my training blades and says quietly, "I would love to know who trained you. Nice job, kid...and good luck."

"Thanks," I mutter, as I watch him disappear through a small door. I look up to the Gallery. Most of the other Gamemakers have sat down, but Seneca was still standing there, with the other Gamemaker...a beefy, florid faced, sandy haired man...at his side.

"Thank you, Mr. Mellark," Seneca says. "Your score will be posted this evening. You are dismissed."

"Thank you for your consideration," I reply with a smile and a slight bow as I head for the exit.

After exiting the gymnasium I finally allow myself to sink back against the door and breathe a sigh of relief.

Training is over.

**PART V**

"Enough small talk," Haymitch says as he pushes his chair out from the dinner table. "Just how bad did you two do today?"

"I don't think I impressed them," Gamma admits quietly. "I just climbed up and down ropes, poles and nets for fifteen minutes. I think they got tired o' watchin' me after a while."

"Do you think you embarrassed yourself?" Haymitch asks pointedly.

Gamma shakes her head. "No."

"Well, can't ask for any more than that," Haymitch mutters as he turns to me. "How about you?"

"I did okay," I reply guardedly. "I did everything we talked about."

Haymitch nods approvingly. "Good."

"The scores are coming on in a few minutes," Effie announces. "Perhaps we should all repair to the living room?"

"Excellent idea," Cinna says. We have our full compliment here tonight...both Mentors, both Stylists, Cressida and her camera crew, and our Escort. Well, as Effie would say, this is a big, Big, BIG night!

I'm just not sure if I really want to know what my score will be.

We settle down in front of the Holo-TV. We're all sitting in a rough horseshoe shape, with Haymitch at the "head" of the horseshoe. Cressida and Messalla take up positions on either side of Haymitch, with Castor and Pollux hanging back, trying to be inconspicuous as they record everything. I sit on the end of the couch, the closest to the projector. Gamma is sitting on the same couch, with Katniss at the other end. Cinna, Portia and Effie are sitting on the other couch.

Finally, the Panem National Anthem blares out from the Holo-TV, as an image of the Great Seal of Panem is flashed on the projector. Caesar Flickerman's face slowly fades in as the Seal fades away. This is a short broadcast. All he will do is read off each Tribute's score. No opinion, no commentary.

Caesar reads the boy's score first, then the girl's score. Silver Collinwood from District One pulls an Eight. Aurora Chamberlain, his district partner, scores an Eleven. There's a minor outburst at this as comparisons between Katniss last year and Aurora this year are drawn, what with both girls earning identical scores. Caesar remarks that this is the first time in Games history that Elevens were awarded in back-to-back Games, and only the sixth time overall that an eleven has been awarded.

Caesar drones on. Lexus Alexander, District Two...Ten. Lupa Stonehenge, District Two...Ten. I ignore District Three. Ishmael Brennan, District Four...Nine. Thalassa Akioshi, District Four...Eight.

As Caesar continues to read, with each Tribute's picture flashing up on the screen as he reads the scores, I take stock of what we know so far. Aside from the eleven that Aurora pulled, all of the other Career scores were almost predictable. Careers almost always score in the Eight to Ten range.

I begin to pay attention again when District Nine is announced. Husker Brown scores an Eight. I find myself nodding in satisfaction at "Bud's" good showing, and catch Gamma's eye, giving her a quick smile, while she responds with a thumbs up. His partner, whose name...Evie...I learn for the first time, scores a One...the only One awarded in these Games. The next lowest score was a Three.

Poor kid. The only thing I can wish for her now is that when it comes, it's quick and relatively painless.

I pay little attention to Districts Ten and Eleven. I feel my stomach knotting up in anxious anticipation of my score.

"And finally," Caesar is saying, looking directly into the camera, "we come to District Twelve, and Peeta Mellark, with a score of...Nine."

Nine! The room erupts in cheers and whoops. Inwardly, I was a little disappointed. I was really hoping for a Ten. But a Nine is solidly in the Career range. In fact, I score better than or equal to three of the six Careers. I glance at Haymitch. He looks at me solemnly and gives me a slow thumbs up. I can't help but grin.

"And, last, but certainly not least," Caesar is intoning dramatically, "we have Gamma Churchill, also from District Twelve, with a score of...Seven."

Seven! Only Husker and myself scored better out of the non-Career districts. I look at her and she shrugs her shoulders, as if to say, "I don't know how that happened!"

Everyone is congratulating Gamma and I...even Katniss, who seems surprised when she's suddenly standing directly in front of me.

"Good job," she manages to mumble, before moving quickly to Gamma.

"Thanks," I reply, mostly to her back. It should have bothered me, but it didn't. I scored a nine. Now, everyone knew that I was a force to be reckoned with.

_Or_ , a little voice in my mind says,  _a threat to be immediately eliminated._

"A toast, everyone!" Portia is saying as she raises her glass. "To Peeta Mellark...the Career from District Twelve!"

As everyone drinks, I notice two things...Katniss barely responds to the toast, and Cressida was the most enthusiastic to respond, even coming forward to give me a hug and kiss both my cheeks. Afterwards, I wondered why I felt so light-headed and why the room suddenly felt so warm.

No matter. I scored a Nine.  _A Nine!_  But I was still plagued by a nagging feeling that I should have done better. It was only later, after I had gone to bed, when I realize what was bothering me.

Gale scored a Nine last year. I scored a Nine this year. I had subconsciously wanted to outscore Gale Hawthorne, but instead, I only managed to tie him. I sigh and lay back, staring up into the darkness.

I know that I need to focus on the Interview, but I can't get Gale out of my mind. He's been dead almost a year, and I still find myself making comparisons between Gale and myself.

_Even if I do manage to win this thing_ , I say to myself,  _it looks like I'll spend the rest of my life competing with a ghost._


	15. CHAPTER 15

**CHAPTER 15**

**PART I**

Interview prep.

At breakfast, we decided that I would work with Effie and Portia in the morning on appearance and style, while Haymitch and Katniss work with Gamma on substance and presentation. In the afternoon we would flip-flop and I would work with Haymitch, while Katniss would go with Gamma to see Effie and Cinna on appearance and style.

It sounded simple enough. It was anything but.

We only have three minutes per Tribute for the Interviews. Three minutes to capture and impress potential Sponsors. So we had to be able to tell a story about ourselves...something that would move the Sponsors into donating money into the District Twelve accounts that Haymitch and Katniss could use to help us.

In fact, Haymitch and Katniss both had been in meetings with Sponsors all week long. Effie had done the groundwork on our first day of training and Haymitch, along with Katniss, had picked up in the days after...meeting with potential Sponsors, trying to get verbal pledges, and getting leads on others that may be inclined to donate to the District Twelve cause.

But at this point, the problem wasn't Sponsors. The problem was in how to sell us.

With me, I couldn't very well come out and say, "Guess what? I've been training for these Games since last fall! Illegal? Psssh! Districts One, Two, and Four have been doing it for  _decades!_ " But, at the same time, Haymitch knew that my Training Score would come up at some point.

"Emphasize your commitment to wrestling," Haymitch had said. "And the fact that you are number one in the district and placed second this year to securing an athletic scholarship to the University."

"But the Gamemakers know that I spent more time with knives than I did wrestling," I protest. "How am I supposed to explain that?"

"Kid, what happens during Tribute Evaluation and Assessment stays right there," Haymitch replies. "No one outside that room will ever know exactly what skills you did or didn't show the Gamemakers...and the Gamemakers, as well as you, are forbidden from disclosing anything related to your score."

I was far from convinced...but at the same time I knew that my score would just be one of the items that Caesar Flickerman would touch on.

I know he'll bring up my Reaping, and Gale's subsequent Volunteering. He'll certainly mention my Volunteering this year. He will probably comment on the whole "Career from District Twelve" thing. And he might just get wind of all the shit that I had to go through this past year...floggings included.

I mention this last to Haymitch. To my surprise, he wasn't the least bit concerned about that.

"Kid, Caesar's job is to paint each Tribute in the best possible light. Mentioning that you were flogged...twice...last year doesn't exactly do that. But, just to be safe, I'll have a talk with him. He listens to the Mentors, especially if it's regarding how he's going to lead the Interview."

I felt a little better going in to my session with Effie and Portia.

Right from the get-go Effie was offering up pointers on just about everything. The way I walk into the Interview ("Confident, Peeta!  _Not_  cocky!"), the way I sit, to not cross one leg over the other, but instead, rest my foot casually on the opposite knee.

Look Caesar in the eye ("He's really  _quite_  charming! He'll put you right at ease!"), act naturally, use my natural wit and charm (I would have been more natural and witty  _last_  year, before the district decided to shit all over me. I'll have to make more of an effort this year), smile, don't fidget or act nervous, speak clearly, smile, make the audience like me, smile, laugh when Caesar laughs, and smile, Smile, SMILE.

Thankfully, Effie didn't take too long. I had a raging headache as it was. Portia was easy as well. She just went over a few things regarding the suit that I would wear the next night and took some last-minute measurements.

"You'd be surprised, Peeta," she had said, "at how much weight some Tributes manage to gain while they're here!"

After watching Gamma eat for the past few days, I don't think I would be surprised at all.

Effie and Portia had finished with me quickly, leaving me with close to three hours to kill before my afternoon session with Haymitch. I glance around at the huge apartment...the living room alone is bigger than Katniss's old house in the Seam...and suddenly realize just how empty it is right now. Effie and Portia are in the "drawing room," with the door carefully closed...whatever they are talking about, they don't want to share. Haymitch and Katniss are with Gamma, using Katniss's bedroom for their portion of the Interview Prep. That door is closed as well.

I sigh and step into my own room, stripping off the shirt that I had put on that morning, tossing it carelessly toward the clothes hamper next to the dresser. The morning had started off cool so I had been wearing a long-sleeved pullover...but it was shaping up to be a warm day. Time for short sleeves. I was rummaging through one of the dresser drawers when I was distracted by a soft knock on my partially opened door.

I glance up, clutching a short sleeved t-shirt in my hands, to see one of the Avox servants...a strikingly beautiful girl with flaming red hair and milky white skin...standing at my door.

I force a smile. Avox made me uncomfortable for some reason. "Yes?"

The girl frowns slightly, and then points above my door. I follow her finger and see that she's pointing at a small light above the door. I recognize the light, even though I have never used it. There was a twin just on the other side of the door. It's the Avox call light.

Now it's my turn to frown. I don't remember pushing the call button. Unless...I glance over at the clothes hamper. I had balled up my old shirt and had carelessly banked it off the wall into the hamper. There was a call button just above the hamper. I had no idea they were  _that_ sensitive.

"Oh!" I say sheepishly. "No...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...that is, I pushed it by accident."

The Avox girl frowns again, this time with a questioning look on her face. She pantomimes eating and drinking. Her question is perfectly clear.  _Would you like me to bring you something to eat or drink?_

I'm still not entirely used to servants waiting on me hand and foot. Embarrassed, I turn away. "Oh, no thank you. I'm fine for now."

I hear a very slight sound come from the Avox girl...a sharp intake of breath. And I realize that, when I turned away, she could see my back...and all of my scars.

I turn back toward her, even more embarrassed now, and quickly slip the shirt over my head. The girl is looking at me sadly now, and takes a couple of steps forward, one hand reaching out, and her fingers delicately sliding over my back. I know that she can feel the raised scar tissue even through the fabric of my shirt.

The girl draws her hand back, and then brings it forward sharply, mimicking a hand wielding a whip, then looks at me questioningly again.

"Yes," I say quietly. The girl thinks about this for a moment, then points to my back, and then at her mouth, and makes a series of gestures.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I don't understand."

The girl repeats the gesture. Again I shake my head. What was she trying to tell me? I can sense the girls' frustration as she repeats the gesture a third time.

"Lavinia," a soft, feminine voice calls out from the hallway. The girl stiffens in fear and whirls around, her eyes wide. I have to admit I was startled as well. I glance past her at the owner of the voice and can't help but smile.

Cressida.

"Can you bring Peeta and I some tea, please?" Cressida asks. "We'll take it in the living room."

Visibly relieved, the girl nods and scampers off. Cressida beckons toward me. "Come on."

I follow her into the living room. She gracefully lowers herself onto one of the couches and pats the cushion next to her. "Have a seat, Peeta. Let's talk."

I settle down next to Cressida, who turns toward me with a smile. "How goes the Interview Prep?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Okay. I was with Effie and Portia this morning. Haymitch calls it the 'Effie Trinket Charm School.'"

At this, Cressida laughs. "Haymitch certainly is an interesting character. I never knew him very well until this past year."

It was then that the Avox girl returns with two cups of tea. She sets one cup and saucer before Cressida, and the other before me. I look up and smile, feeling a bit more at ease with the girl now that we have had some interaction that went beyond me giving her an order.

"Your name is Lavinia?" I ask.

The girl glances fearfully at Cressida, who nods and smiles encouragement, before looking back at me and nodding.

"Thank you, Lavinia," I say.

Lavinia nods quickly, clasping her hands in front of her and bowing her head quickly, and then making the same series of gestures that she was making when Cressida had first arrived.

"I'm sorry," I say, "I don't...Cressida, do you understand her?"

"I know a little Amsalan," she replies, as she watches Lavinia intently. Cressida then turns to me and says, "She's saying that you two are bonded through punishment. Your back...her tongue." Lavinia nods vigorously in agreement, and then turns back to Cressida and makes a quick gesture.

"You're welcome," Cressida says with a smile. Lavinia smiles and bows, first at Cressida, then at me, before quickly leaving.

I wait until the Avox girl is gone, and then I ask, "How did you know her name?

"Through Pollux, of course," Cressida smiles. "He's quite taken with her. He's talked with her quite a bit. She and her boyfriend were running away from the Capitol, but were caught right outside the District Twelve Boundary Fence. Her boyfriend was killed outright. She was taken back here and turned into an Avox."

I feel a sudden stab of pity at this girl that considers she and I bonded through punishments meted out by the Capitol. "Why were they running away?"

"She wouldn't tell Pollux." Cressida looks thoughtful for a moment. "She wouldn't tell him where they were going, either. It's incredible that she got as far as Twelve."

"Yes," I say. "Yes, it is." Where  _could_  they have been going?

"So, do you know what you will be talking about during your Interview?" Cressida asks, and then adds hastily, "Off the record, of course."

"I guess we'll figure that out this afternoon," I reply. "Seems like an awful lot of fuss for three minutes."

"A very important three minutes," Cressida adds. "And the only chance for the Sponsors to see and hear each Tribute. So an awful lot of fuss needs to be paid."

In response, I nod and say something to the effect of, "I guess so."

Truthfully, I'm terrified that Caesar will ask questions about whether or not I have a special girl. How am I supposed to answer  _that_  one? Katniss suddenly floods my brain. I've been so busy, so... _distracted_...for the last few days that I had barely even really thought about her, and I feel a rush of guilt. Here I've had a huge crush on this girl for  _twelve_  years and I've barely even thought about her...even with the possible revelation as to what her "Games Business" really consisted of.  _Or maybe_ , I say to myself,  _maybe_ because _of the whole "Games Business" thing._  And that made me feel even worse.

I suddenly realize that Cressida is speaking to me. " - even listening to me?"

"Sorry," I mumble. "I was thinking." Suddenly, I realize that I really want to know exactly what "Games Business"  _really_  is.

"Must have been deep thoughts, then," Cressida says dryly.

"Cressida," I ask suddenly, lowering my voice and glancing in the direction of the hallway that led to the bedrooms, suddenly worried that Haymitch, Katniss and Gamma would emerge unexpectedly, "do you have any idea what Katniss's 'Games Business' is  _really_ all about?"

**PART II**

"I don't want to talk about my family," I insist stubbornly.

"Shit," Haymitch mutters, taking a pull from his bottle. "So, we can't talk about your preparations for the Games...it is, after all,  _illegal_  to train for the Hunger Games -"

"The Careers have been doing it almost since the start!" I protest.

"-  _and_ , since Districts One, Two  _and_  Four enjoy a privileged relationship with the Capitol, we can't compare what you did to what the Careers are  _allowed_ to do! May I continue?" Haymitch asks sarcastically.

I cross my arms over my chest...a decidedly Katniss-like gesture...and nod sullenly.

"Thank you  _ever_ so much!" Haymitch takes another pull from his bottle. "Now, where was I? Oh, yes! Your Interview! Your wrestling...placing first in the district and barely missing an athletic scholarship is impressive, but you can't base your entire interview on that. Let's see. Your baking skills?"

"Too close to family," I mutter.

"Of course," Haymitch sighs. "Kid, you have to talk about  _something_ other than wrestling. Otherwise Caesar  _will_  start asking questions about your love life. In fact, there are no guarantees that he won't anyway!"

Sitting there, in Haymitch's unkempt bedroom, I'm suddenly struck by inspiration. "What about Gale?"

"Wait...what?" Haymitch sputters. "Gale. As in Gale  _Hawthorne?_ "

I shrug my shoulders. "Why not? He volunteered for me last year. It's only fitting -"

"Stop right there," Haymitch says. "Gale did not volunteer  _for_  you. He volunteered  _for_  Katniss. You just happened to be the lucky one in his way."

" - that I, in turn, use my new lease on life to volunteer for the next boy from Twelve to be Reaped," I continue, ignoring Haymitch's outburst. "That, in a way, I am repaying Gale Hawthorne and honor his memory by bravely stepping forward and repaying the debt that I owe him  _and_ the entire Hawthorne family."

Haymitch leans back in is chair, a thoughtful look on his face. Suddenly his unshaven cheeks crease in a grin. "It just may work," he says softly. "It's noble...brave...selfless. And you  _did_  say at Reaping that a debt needs to be repaid."

"Actually, I said I had something to prove," I correct Haymitch.

"Something to prove...repaying a debt...its all bullshit, kid, but it'll work!" Haymitch jumps up from his chair, pacing excitedly. "Yes. It's the perfect spin. Gale volunteered for you and you are  _paying it forward_!"

"Huh?" I frown at the unfamiliar phrase. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Paying it...never mind, kid." He grins at me, grabbing me by the shoulders. "I'll talk to Caesar this afternoon. At the end of your three minutes there won't be a dry eye in Panem...everyone will eat this up!"

Haymitch opens his bedroom door. "Alright, kid, we're done here for now. Enjoy the rest of your day."

Haymitch's door slams shut before I can say a word. I shuffle back to my room and roll back across the massive bed. Maybe a nap would help...but I doubt if sleep will come easily to me. This unexpected free time has left me with too much time to think...and my thoughts are increasingly turning to Katniss...and her "Games Business" secret.

Cressida had refused to answer any questions regarding Katniss's "Games Business," instead opting to say things like, "Peeta, you truly don't want to know," or "Peeta, it's really none of your concern. Please, please drop it!"

The only thing that Cressida's reticence accomplished was to confirm my worst fears. Katniss is being forced to do something...unspeakable...in order to protect her sister.

And I am totally helpless to prevent it.

I sorely wish we still had access to the gymnasium. Hard exercise was just the ticket I needed right now. Too much time to think was not a good thing for me right at the moment.

But, I couldn't use the gym. Gamma is still locked in "Effie's Charm School," at least for now. And everyone, Cressida included, is gone.

I shift restlessly on the bed. Too much time to think. And Katniss, who I have hardly thought about since arriving here, is exploding in my thoughts.

I wish I could tell the truth in my Interview about my primary motivation for Volunteering. Live or die, I want nothing more than to earn Katniss's respect. And, if by some miracle I do survive the Games, then maybe, just maybe, I have a chance at earning her love.

Because, I realize, I want that more than anything.

No matter what the Capitol has forced her to do.

* * *

Dinner that evening was somewhat strained. Katniss was absent from dinner. She had been left alone for almost all of our training, and had even begun to work with Gamma and discharge her Mentoring duties...but  _someone_  must have decided that she would not be needed until the next evening, at the Interviews.

A Games Page had stopped by the Penthouse within a half hour of her, Effie and Cinna finishing with Gamma. I watch as Katniss reluctantly accepts a small envelope from the star-struck Page...a girl of about sixteen...and notice her hands tremble as she rips the envelope open and extracts a small card from within.

I see Katniss grow suddenly pale and her lips compress in a thin line as she reads the card, and then turn away quickly so she wouldn't notice that I was watching her. Katniss then disappears into her bedroom, reappearing an hour later, dressed in the height of Capitol fashion, mumbles something to Haymitch and Effie about an appointment, and then abruptly leaves.

Haymitch looks pained. Effie looks confused. I feel sick to my stomach.

Gamma kicks me softly under the table. Annoyed, I turn to glare at her, but the look on her face stops me from saying anything. It's a look that I had never seen Gamma give me before.

It's a look of concern.

Gamma nods at my plate. "You done, Townie?" I nod, even though I had hardly touched my dinner. Gamma stands up and jerks her head toward the door that leads to the roof.

"Come on," she says. "Let's get some fresh air."

Silently, I follow Gamma through the door and up the stairs, emerging onto the roof moments later. We walk to the roof's edge, admiring the view as the early evening sun begins to set behind the mountains to the west, painting everything in a calming orange glow.

Gamma is the first to speak. "Ready for tomorrow night?" She steps up on a small footstool to get a better view of the Capitol. I almost warn her to be careful, forgetting for a moment about the force field surrounding the roof.

I don't even want to think about tomorrow night. After thinking it over, talking about Gale doesn't seem like such a great idea after all. But I don't let Gamma know that.

"Yeah, I guess," I say noncommittally. "How about you?"

"Haymitch wants me to talk about the Home," Gamma says with a sigh. "About how it 'toughened' me for the Games." She laughs ruefully. "He says I can't play sexy, mysterious or strong...but he said tough was perfect for me."

"And will you?" I ask.

Gamma shrugs. "I guess. Katniss agreed with him. Plus, he said that Caesar Flickerman is real good at bringing out the best in the Tributes."

"Well, just remember not to flip anyone off during your Interview and you'll do just fine," I say with a smile.

This makes Gamma laugh...a real laugh, not one tinged with bitterness or embarrassment. I decide that I like how it sounds.

Then Gamma playfully flips me off, making me laugh as well. "Thanks," I say sincerely.

"For what?" Gamma asks.

"For making me laugh."

"Figured you needed it. Look, Townie, I dunno what Haymitch told you to talk about in your Interview, but I know what you  _should_  talk about."

I raise my eyebrows inquiringly at Gamma. "Oh? And what's that?"

"Katniss."

I feel my stomach twist slightly. "Oh?" I reply nonchalantly. "And why should I do that?"

Gamma sighs. "Are you  _really_  gonna play dumb with me? It's pretty fuckin' obvious why!"

"Obvious to who?" I ask.

"Me, stupid. Remember me? The Community Home Seam girl that knows what people are feeling?"

"You...you  _felt_  that?"

"Well, I could  _see_  it, too...maybe not so much the past few days, but it was pretty much all over your face tonight."

I turn away, pretending to admire the view. Gamma knew.  _Some gift_ , I say to myself.  _More like a curse_.

I sigh heavily. "Remember the scar on my head?"

"Yeah? What about it?"

"How did I get it?"

"You...you burned something. Bread, or something. And your mother clocked you one."

"Bread," I confirm. "Two loaves of raisin nut, to be exact."

"Okay," Gamma says impatiently, "what's that got to do with Katniss?"

"I burned them for her," I say softly.

" _For_  her?" Gamma asks. "For Katniss?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"It was not even three months after the mine accident." I begin to tell Gamma the story of my one and only contact with Katniss Everdeen before the Reaping last year. "Her father was killed. Her mother had the Sadness and couldn't help herself, let alone her kids. Katniss was starving. Gamma, she was  _dying._  So I burned two loaves for her. My mother...to say that she was pissed would be a colossal understatement. She was  _furious_! She told me to go feed the ruined bread to our pigs...just like I knew she would. Katniss...she had come to our door early, trying to sell something and my mother screamed at her...and she screamed at her again when she caught Katniss rooting around in our garbage cans. I had to do  _something_. So I did. And when I went outside with the bread and saw Katniss sitting under a tree, soaked by the rain, I threw the bread to her instead of to our pigs." I pause for a moment, remembering. "I think my mother saw. When I came back inside, she really let me have it then."

"Did Katniss ever say anything about it?" Gamma asks softly.

I shake my head. "No."

"She wouldn't have," Gamma says firmly. "Seam tradition. Never accept something you can't pay back. She couldn't pay you back, so it was charity. Seam don't like charity. She never said anything 'cause she didn't know  _what_  to say. Something like that, 'thank you' just don't cut it."

"Yeah, well, it was a long time ago," I say quietly. "She probably forgot about it."

"No," Gamma says. "You don't forget somethin' like that." Gamma stares out at the Capitol for a moment. "You need to tell her."

"During the Interviews?" I reply with a laugh. "Oh, yeah. That would be a  _great_  idea! Let everyone in Panem in on it! Perfect!"

"Townie, she's got a right to know," Gamma points out.

"I think she has other things on her mind right now," I reply bitterly.

"You mean all that 'Games Business' shit?" Gamma asks.

"Yeah. That 'Games Business' shit." I stare out at the Capitol.

"She really hates it, you know." I glance at Gamma sharply.

"More 'insight?" I ask sarcastically.

"We both saw how she was tonight," Gamma says, ignoring my tone. I'm immediately sorry for lashing out at her. It wasn't her fault that Katniss was...doing whatever she was being forced to do.

"Sorry," I mumble. "I don't mean to take it out on you."

"Forget it," Gamma says dismissively. "You're a Townie. You can't help being an asshole. It's in your nature."

I glance at her sharply to see if she was smiling. She wasn't, but there was an unmistakable glint in her eye.

"You know what they did to her?" I ask suddenly.

Gamma replies immediately. "The Capitol made her a whore. Just like old Cray used to, back in Twelve, when starving Seam girls would trade their bodies for a handful of coins."

"Did you ever?" I find myself asking, and I immediately regret it. Strangely enough, Gamma doesn't seem to be insulted by my question.

"No. No, I never had to," she replies pensively. "The Home...it ain't much, but the kids there don't starve." Gamma looks up at me. "Look, Townie. You need to tell her how you feel...if not for her, than for you."

"Me?" I ask in surprise.

"You," Gamma says firmly. "And you know why? Because, two days from now, you just might be dead. You've got nothing to lose."

I think about what she said. Two days from right now, I might be dead.

"Come on," Gamma says. "Let's go back inside."

I nod, and, as I follow her back into the Penthouse and down the stairs to the main living room, I make up my mind. Gamma is right. Katniss, in spite of her problems, deserves to know how I feel.

One thing is certain, though. I'm not going to announce it to the entire country. I'll tell her in private, sometime between now and the Interviews.

Assuming, of course, that I even see her before the Interviews.

"Games Business" is unpredictable.

**PART III**

The next day passes with agonizing slowness. Gamma and I were both pulled aside several times by various members of what Cressida dryly called our "entourage," to receive additional coaching for our Interviews, to practice walking and sitting (I never knew there were so many ways to lower yourself into the same chair), to how to look at the cameras.

I was never alone with Katniss for even thirty seconds, let alone enough time to tell her how I felt about her.

Finally, we all sat down to an early dinner. We were eating in the late afternoon so that our Prep Teams would have plenty of time to buff Gamma and I up for the Interviews. By this time, of course, both Gamma and I had nerves that were stretched to the breaking point. We were irritable and both of us were in a bad mood. Gamma even drew a sharp rebuke from Effie for a comment that she made during this final, lavish dinner, about "fattening us up for the slaughter."

Shortly afterwards, Gamma and I are led away for a final going-over by our Prep Teams, followed by Cinna and Portia, there to get Gamma and I dressed in what we were to wear for our Interviews. As neither Gamma nor I had enough time since our arrival here to undo the work that the Prep Teams had done during that first, marathon session before the Tribute Parade. This was more along the lines of something approaching a nice, relaxing massage.

If only I had been in the mood to enjoy it. I was still upset at not having the opportunity to speak with Katniss.

While I silently stewed over my missed chances to speak with Katniss, Portia patiently got me dressed for the Interview. The suit was muted and dignified...dark blue with just the barest highlights of sunset orange. Portia and I didn't speak much while she worked on me...but every now and then would give my arm a squeeze or pat my shoulder reassuringly. I'm sure she thought my silence was due to nervousness...and that was fine with me.

Finally, it was time to leave. Our entire "entourage" descends to the basement level, but instead of entering the Gymnasium, we are hustled through a short tunnel to City Circle, where we emerge directly behind the stage where the Interviews would be conducted.

Haymitch explains that, being as this is a Quarter Quell, that our Interviews would be conducted a little differently than they are during non-Quell years. In non-Quell years, all twenty-four Tributes are paraded across the stage to a seating area off to one side, and then called up by District; the girl first, followed by the boy. Once the Interview was completed, each Tribute would return to his or her seat.

This year, however, the Tributes would remain hidden from the view of both the cameras and the crowd until it was time for their Interview, at which time they would be directed onto the stage and into the care of Caesar Flickerman. Once the Interview was concluded, each Tribute would be escorted to their seat in the Tribute seating area.

Backstage could best be described as controlled chaos. In addition to the twenty-four Tributes, there were Mentors, Escorts, and Stylists everywhere...not to mention Cressida and her crew, busy recording everything for posterity. In short order, however, everyone but the Tributes were herded out to take their place in seating areas reserved especially for them.

Haymitch and Katniss are the last to go...each Mentor giving their Tribute some last-second advice...or, in Haymitch's case, he just leaned in close and whispers, "Break a leg, kid."

I didn't understand that at all. Haymitch wants me to break my leg...the night before the Games begin? I frown at him in confusion but he just shoots me a lopsided grin as he and Katniss are escorted away.

"Did you talk to her?" A soft voice asks. I turn and see Gamma standing to my immediate right. Cinna did his usual fabulous job on her...dressing her in a tight, sleeveless gown of some shimmering material that seems to constantly change colors according to how the lights are hitting it...but all in earth tones. Different shades of brown, yellow, and red come and go in a myriad of combinations. It's really quite breathtaking, and the style somehow fits Gamma perfectly.

I shake my head. "Never had a chance to get her alone," I mutter.

"Shit," Gamma says softly. "So what're you gonna do?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Not much I  _can_  do. I have some paper and a pencil back in my room. I'll write a note and slip it under her door tonight after we get back."

"Where the fuck did you get paper and a pencil?" Gamma asks incredulously. Any type of writing implement was forbidden to Tributes. The Capitol didn't want Mentors carrying last letters from dead Tributes home to their families. Apparently, they considered the five minutes they got during Visiting Hour sufficient.

"Never mind," I hiss. "And keep your voice down!"

The last thing I wanted was to get Lavinia in trouble for smuggling in contraband to a Tribute.

Gamma looks disgusted. "Well, a note is a pretty lame idea."

"I'm open to suggestion," I reply evenly.

Any further discussion on the subject of my feelings for Katniss would have to wait, as Gamma and I both notice Husker hurrying over to us.

Husker greets us perfunctorily. "Hey, Gamma...Peeta."

"Husker," Gamma replies. "Looking good!" Husker was dressed in a light-colored suit, the colors reminiscent of golden fields of grain. I had to admit that he did clean up nicely, and told him so.

"Thanks, guys," Husker says absently, then, "Peeta. Got a second?"

"Sure," I reply. I turn to Gamma. "I'll be right back."

"Take your time," she says dryly as Husker takes me by the arm and hustles me a few steps away.

"What's up?" I examine my ally closely. He seems really worked up about something and for a moment I'm afraid that he wants to break the alliance.

"I need a favor," he says softly. "A  _big_  favor."

"That depends," I reply warily. "What do you need?"

Husker takes a deep breath before continuing. "Tomorrow, after the gong sounds...I need you to kill Evie."

* * *

I stare at Husker in amazement. "I could have sworn you just asked me to kill your district partner."

Husker looks miserable. "I did. But only if you're close to her...say within a couple of Pedestals. I don't want you to risk yourself."

"I don't get it," I say, horrified by what my ally has just asked me to do. "Why?"

"Peeta, she's scared shitless. She's barely sleeping, barely eating...the Interview tonight is gonna be a disaster, I just know it." Husker gives me a pleading look. "You and I both know that she has no chance of surviving the bloodbath. But she's suffered enough. The last thing I want is for some fuckin' Career to get a hold of her and make her suffer more, all for the sake of puttin' on a good show!"

"What about you?" I ask sharply. "Where you gonna be while all this is happening?"

"Look. If you can't and if I...can...I'll do it. Break her neck. Quick and easy. No suffering. She...she deserves some dignity."

I can hardly believe what he's asking...yet, in a perverse way, it makes perfect sense. If the Careers get to her first, they'll make a sport of killing her. They'll draw it out and make her suffer horribly. What Husker was asking...it was, in a way, merciful...even humane.

I take a deep breath and nod slowly. "Okay. I'll do it.  _If_  I can. No promises."

Husker looks at me gratefully. "Thanks, Peeta. If you do...I'll owe you."

A metallic voice suddenly announces, "Tributes, please line up in district order."

Husker sticks out his hand and we solemnly shake. "See you tomorrow," he says, his voice thick with emotion.

"Tomorrow," I repeat, all the while thinking that I just promised him that I would do my best to kill a fourteen-year-old girl...and hoping against hope that someone else will beat me to it.

Killing a Career was one thing. I just don't think I could live with myself if I have to kill Evie.

I sigh and take my place at the tail end of the line. I will be the very last Tribute to be Interviewed. Gamma swivels her head around and regards me coolly for a moment.

"Have a nice talk?"

I can't tell whether she's asking seriously or being sarcastic. "Gamma, you really don't want to know. Trust me on this."

Gamma examines me intently for a moment, and something tells me that she's "reading" me. Finally, she simply nods. "Okay."

"You look great, by the way." It's not an idle compliment. I mean every word.

Gamma blushes crimson. "Shut up, Townie." She tries, and fails, to hide her smile from me.

Any further conversation will just have to wait. Aurora Chamberlain has just been called to the stage.

* * *

Gamma does look great, no question about it. But Aurora is absolutely stunning.

Aurora's Stylist dressed her in a white, floor-length, skin-tight sheath. One side of the sheath is slit all the way to the hip, allowing her to display her incredible legs. She strides out on stage, walking with supreme confidence. With her score of Eleven, not to mention coming from a Career district, she was already the odds-on favorite to be the Victor of the Third Quarter Quell.

Well, if she does win, it will literally be over my dead body.

The crowd absolutely loves her, especially when Caesar brings up her training score and the inevitable comparisons to Katniss Everdeen.

"So, Aurora," Caesar says, flashing his trademark smile. "You had to know that people would be making comparisons between you and Katniss Everdeen. Back to back scores of Eleven -" at this the crowd burst into spontaneous applause "- and you've made no secret regarding your skill with a bow. Your thoughts?"

Aurora says all the right things at the right times. "Caesar, Katniss Everdeen was a great champion -" more applause "- and I have the utmost respect for her and her phenomenal skills with bow and arrow. I only hope that I can do half as well as she did."

"Head to head," Caesar interjects, "who's better? You? Or Katniss Everdeen?"

Watching backstage on a large Holo projector, the cameras quickly split the image to show Aurora on one side, and Katniss on the other. Katniss is as impassive as ever, even when Haymitch nudges her with his elbow and points upwards...obviously at a similar image being projected near the stage.

"Oh Caesar," Aurora says with a laugh, "that question will probably never be answered."

"Alright, then," Caesar continues, "how about this?  _If_  you win this thing, perhaps a little friendly archery competition during the stop in District Twelve while on the Victory Tour?"

"A contest?" Aurora asks with a smile as the crowd erupts in cheers.

"Of course!" Caesar says enthusiastically. "You each get one shot at a bulls-eye. Whoever comes closest wins. If you both hit the bulls-eye, then the targets are moved back...and they keep moving them back until one of you misses. What say you to  _that_?"

Katniss's only reaction on the split screen is the barest of smiles. "Well, Caesar," Aurora says with another laugh, "that's a long way off. And you're assuming that I will be the Victor. There are, after all, twenty-three other Tributes that might want to have a say in that!"

"So true, so true!" Caesar says. "So, in closing, tell me, Aurora...who's your greatest competition for the title of Victor?"

"Oh, Caesar, I don't want to name names!" Aurora replies. "But, I will tell you who I guarantee  _won't_  be sitting up here with you when the Games are all over!"

"And who might that be?" Caesar asks, leaning forward.

Aurora looks directly into the camera and smiles. "Anyone from District Twelve."

"Well, there you have it," Caesar says with a grin. "Ladies and gentlemen, Aurora Chamberlain, District One!"

As Aurora moves off stage to take her seat at the side, I see Gamma, standing directly in front of me, stiffen and hear her mutter, "Bitch."

I lean forward and whisper, "What you said."

* * *

The rest of the Interviews were predictable and went very quickly.

To my surprise and shock, Caesar was able to coax Evie, the terrified girl from District Nine, into coming across as just a shy, quiet girl...rather than the frightened out of her wits child that she actually was. The interview was awkward, lackluster, and, at times, painful. But she didn't break down and Caesar, to his credit, treated her with compassion. True, she received only polite applause from the audience...but I've seen past Interviews where the Tribute breaks down on stage, and the audience attacks them like a stray dog attacks a marrowbone.

Thankfully, that didn't happen. At one point Husker turned around, caught my eye, and nodded slightly. I flash him a quick smile that fades almost immediately when I remember the promise that I had made to him less than two hours before...to kill Evie quickly if I had the chance.

I fervently hope that I will not get that chance.

Next up is Husker, and he acquits himself well in his Interview. He's by far the largest Tribute in these Games, a fact that Caesar does not downplay, but he doesn't come across as menacing; instead, he's at ease with Caesar...laughing, joking, and answering Caesar's questions about his life in District Nine. The raging acne that covered most of his face at his Reaping has disappeared completely, revealing a good-looking farm boy. There was only one occasion during his Interview that takes a serious turn...when Caesar asked him if he had any regrets.

"Only one," Husker had said, with a sad smile. He refused to give any details.

Maybe, in the arena, I can get him to tell me what his one regret is.

A few Tributes later and its Gamma's turn to takes the stage. As Caesar and the boy from District Eleven are wrapping up his Interview, a stagehand steps forward to lead Gamma to a spot just off the stage, called a "mark." Once there, she has just enough time to glance back at me and flash me a quick, nervous smile, as the applause dies down for the District Eleven boy, and just before Caesar announces her.

"And now," Caesar says dramatically, "who can forget the dramatic entrance that District Twelve made at the Tribute Parade this year?" Enthusiastic applause erupts. "I give you, Miss Gamma Churchill!"

Caesar did a great job with her. They spoke of the mine accident that made her an orphan, of her brother dying a few years later during a flu epidemic, and of growing up in the Community Home. Caesar also spoke of her Training Score...Seven...and admitted to being quite impressed.

"So, Gamma," Caesar had said. "A Seven. That's just below the scores that we've grown accustomed to seeing from Districts One, Two, and Four. How did you manage such a good score?"

Gamma smiled mysteriously and merely said, "I impressed the Gamemakers."

She got a good laugh from the audience at this...including from the Gamemakers Gallery.

But my mind wasn't really on Gamma's Interview, but rather on the countdown timer above the Holo projection of her with Caesar. Exactly at the one-minute mark, a stagehand appears by my elbow and quietly directs me to the "mark." From there, I can no longer see the Holo projection, but instead I have an unobstructed view of Gamma sitting with Caesar...or at least an unobstructed view of the back of Gamma's head, anyway. Caesar is now wrapping up Gamma's interview as they both stand. Caesar kisses Gamma's hand, and then raises it up, still clenched in his own, to the enthusiastic applause from the audience. Caesar and Gamma then lower their hands, and I see Gamma walking briskly off to the right, escorted by yet another stagehand.

I swallow heavily as I realize that it's almost time for  _me_  to take the stage. Caesar, still standing, glances quickly in my direction, and then begins to speak.

"He's the other half of that dramatic,  _smoldering_  entrance at the Tribute Parade! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Career from District Twelve...Peeta Mellark!"

At the sound of my name I begin to walk out on stage as the audience leaps to their feet, applauding and cheering wildly.  _This is it_ , I say to myself.  _Three minutes to make an impression_.

It's showtime.

* * *

Caesar shakes my hand warmly and ushers me into a chair. "Welcome, Peeta! Welcome!"

"Thank you," I manage to mutter. I take a couple of deep, slow breaths and try to rein in my nervousness.

"Peeta," Caesar says in his clipped, precise voice, "I think the question that is uppermost in everyone's mind is this: you were Reaped  _last_  year,  _but_...Gale Hawthorne Volunteered for you and he ended up going to the Games instead of you. Now,  _this_  year,  _you_  were the one that stepped forward and volunteered to be District Twelve's boy Tribute. The question: why?"

"I guess I felt that I owed it to Gale's memory to step up and Volunteer." The lie slips from my lips smoothly.

"You said at your Reaping that you had something to prove," Caesar points out. "Prove to whom?"

I glance over where Haymitch and Katniss are sitting, along with the rest of the Mentors. "It's a pretty long list, Caesar," I reply with a smile.

"And have you proved what you set out to prove?"

I shrug. "I don't know yet," I murmur. "Maybe I never will. But they will know."

"The ones on your list?" Caesar asks.

"Yes," I reply. "The ones on my list."

"Let's talk a little about a significant personal achievement," Caesar continues. "You're a wrestler, correct?"

"Yes," I reply. "Freestyle."

"And you recently applied for an athletic scholarship to the University of Panem. How did that work out for you?"

"I placed second."

"In District Twelve?"

"No," I reply. "Second in Panem."

The audience responds to this with a burst of applause. "Second in the entire country?" Caesar asks. "Phenomenal! Who was first?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Someone better than me, I suppose."

Laughter from the audience. "Who is probably very thankful that they don't have to face you in the arena!" Caesar says with a grin. "On that subject, Peeta...your Training Score of Nine was most impressive...wasn't it, folks?"

More applause and cheers from the audience. "Now, I know you can't talk about how you achieved your score...but, let me ask you this: do you think your score was deserved?"

"No," I reply firmly. "It should have been higher."

This elicited a gasp, followed by applause, from the audience. I risk a glance at the Gamemakers Gallery and see that they are all pretty much impassive...except for the man sitting next to Seneca Crane...the beefy man with the florid face and sandy colored hair. He has just the faintest of smiles on his face...and I have no idea if that's good or bad.

I glace quickly at Haymitch. His glare tells me all I need to know. He's not happy with me or with my Interview. I realize, too late, that I've crossed the line between confident and cocky. I just hope that I can salvage something from this in the time I have left.

"Well," Caesar says with a grin, "we should expect no less from the Career from District Twelve! Speaking of that...what do you think of your new nickname?"

Time to turn on a little humility. "I'm flattered, of course, to be favorably compared to such formidable Tributes as those from Districts One, Two, and Four. I can only hope that I can live up to the comparison." There. Humble without being simpering.

The applause from the audience tells me that they appreciated my statement as well. I glance at Haymitch again. At least he's no longer glaring at me. I take that as a positive sign. Katniss, of course, is as impassive as ever.

"Now, Peeta," Caesar says, leaning forward, "I have to ask this: is there anyone special...a special girl, I mean...back in District Twelve?"

This is the question that I've been dreading. I take a deep breath and shake my head. "No."

"Oh, come on!" Caesar says in disbelief. "Handsome young man like yourself? You must have them lined up at your door!"

I manage a sheepish smile.  _Be careful_ , I say to myself. "Well...there is this  _one_  girl," I admit softly.

"Aha!" Caesar exclaims with a triumphant look on his face, as the audience reacts with applause. "I  _knew_  it! Tell us about her!"

"There's not much to tell," I reply. "She...well, I don't even think she really knew I existed until the Reaping last year, when my name was called." I pause for a moment.

"Go on," Caesar prompts.

"She...well, she's incredible," I continue. "I've had a crush on her for...well, forever. And I know a lot of other guys like her also."

"Other guys?" Caesar asks, alarm in his voice. "Does that mean she's spoken for?"

"No," I say emphatically, shaking my head. "At least," I add quickly, "I don't think so. I haven't seen her with any other boy for quite some time."

"Well," Caesar says reasonably, "have you spoken to this young lady and let her know how you feel?"

"No," I admit. "In fact, I haven't spoken all that much to her about anything."

"But she doesn't have a boyfriend," Caesar presses.

"Not one that I know of," I reply.  _Besides, a boyfriend would interfere with her "Games Business."_ I say to myself...and I'm immediately ashamed for having thought it at all.

"So, there  _is_  a chance," Caesar says with a smile. "Well, Peeta, I'll tell you what...you go out and win this thing, and there's  _no way_  that she'll be able to turn you down if you ask her out! Right, folks?"

The audience responds with enthusiastic applause and cheers.  _Okay,_  I say to myself,  _what do I say now?_  I glance down at Haymitch and Katniss. Haymitch looks concerned. Katniss looks bored.

"I...I'm not sure that winning will help me," I finally manage to say.

Caesar looks surprised at this. "Oh? And why not, Peeta?"

"Because she -" I pause.  _Because she's sitting down there, right next to Haymitch Abernathy, and she's been angry with me ever since the Reaping because I lied to her, and even if I didn't lie to her, there's no way I can ever measure up to Gale Hawthorne!_

"Go on," Caesar urges gently.

I take a deep breath. "Because she...she has a lot to deal with in her life. She...I don't think that she even has the time...or wants someone in her life, other than her family."

The audience groans sympathetically. Caesar reaches over and pats my knee gently. "Peeta...unrequited love is painful, isn't it? Well, the young lady in question is undoubtedly watching right now, and she just may be able to figure out on her own that you are talking about her."

I glance again at Katniss, who is examining her fingernails intently. "I somehow doubt that...but anything is possible."

"Indeed it is," Caesar says. "And I wish you the best of luck." Caesar stands and I join him. The Interview is over.

Caesar clasps my right hand in his left and turns to face the audience, subtlety pulling me to face the audience as well. He raises our clasped hands and says, "Peeta Mellark, the Career from District Twelve!"

I walk to my seat to the sound of applause. I don't get much of a chance to sit, however, as the National Anthem of Panem begins to play just seconds after I take my seat. I rise, along with the other Tributes, and stand in respectful silence until the anthem is over.

All the Tributes are immediately ushered backstage, where our Mentors, Escorts and Stylists promptly gather us up. Haymitch takes me aside immediately.

He doesn't mince words. "You were too cocky," he says flatly. "You were supposed to be friendly and personable. I can only hope that the last bit managed to pull some of that out of you. At least the audience was sympathetic."

"I know," I sigh. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to  _me_ , kid," Haymitch huffs. "You're the one that'll have to live with the consequences, not me." Haymitch quickly glances around and sees that everyone is present.

"Alright," he sighs. "Let's get back to the Penthouse." He looks at Gamma and I sadly. "You two need to get some sleep. Another big, big, big day tomorrow!"

And, as we head back to the Training Center, I find myself wishing that Haymitch hadn't reminded us about tomorrow.

**PART IV**

I doze fitfully, tossing and turning, never quite able to fall completely asleep. On the dresser is my note to Katniss, hastily scribbled out and folded into threes, ready for delivery.

Haymitch had told us that our Stylists would come in before dawn, awaken us, get us dressed...what we wore wouldn't matter, as we would be changing once we arrived in the Catacombs...the underground area where the Tributes assembled before being launched into the arena...and then we would be led, one at a time, to the roof of the Training Center, where a hovercraft would pick us up. Gamma and Cinna would go first, followed by Portia and myself three minutes later.

District Twelve, as always, was the last to be picked up. Beginning with District One, each Tribute would be transported to the roof by means of a service elevator at three-minute intervals. Only District Twelve would be allowed to use the stairs to gain roof access. Each Tribute and Stylist would be flown to the Catacombs in a personal hovercraft, complete with full breakfast service. Haymitch emphasized breakfast and made it plain that we were both to eat.

Nothing but the best for our brave, selfless Tributes.

Haymitch had explained that he and Katniss would already be gone by the time that Gamma and I are be awakened.

"Katniss and I will already be at Mentor Control," he had explained. "Cinna and Portia will make sure that you are awakened and they'll take care of you all the way to the Stockyard...I mean, the Launch Rooms." Haymitch looked at Gamma and I solemnly. "It's about an hour to the arena by hovercraft. Any questions?"

"What," I joked, in a lame attempt to lighten the mood somewhat, "no last minute advice?"

"Here's some," Katniss had said, her face, as always, an impassive mask. "Stay alive."

I'm sorry I asked.

* * *

I give up. There's too much running through my head to allow me to fall asleep. The Games...my promise to Husker...and Katniss. Always Katniss. I just hope that I have enough time tomorrow to slip my note under her door.

I glance at the clock by my bedside. Midnight. I groan and kick the covers off, and then swing my legs out of the bed and lurch to my feet. I fumble around for my robe...I'm wearing shorts and a t-shirt but the environmental controls are set on the cool side here in the Penthouse...and quietly open my door and step into the hallway.

Silence. Dim night lighting is on...enough to get around by, but that's about it...as I make my way through the Penthouse. I pause briefly near the dining table, sliding a cup under the beverage dispenser as I push a button, waiting for my hot chocolate to brew. After half a minute, a soft chime indicates that my drink is ready. I grab up the cup and head for the stairs to the roof.

_Hot chocolate and some fresh air,_  I say to myself. Back home I'm used to sleeping with my windows open, no matter what the weather was like outside. Here, the windows don't open. I've felt stifled every night that I've been here.

I climb the stairs slowly, so as not to spill my drink, and emerge onto the roof. I step to the side closest to City Circle and look down at the bedlam below. A party is in full swing on the streets surrounding the Training Center. A marquee on a building across from the Training Center is displaying different pictures every few seconds. As I watch I see my picture suddenly flash up, and I realize with a shock that all the commotion in City Center is an in-progress pre-Hunger Games party.

I stand silently for a few minutes, listening to the chanting voices rising and falling, wondering how so many people can get so excited about watching children kill each other.

Of course, it's easy for them. It's not their children dying.

I hear the door open behind me, and then shut quietly. I glance over, thinking that it was Gamma joining me on the roof.

I couldn't have been more wrong. It's Katniss.

She's wearing a simple, knee-length, flannel nightdress that she had pulled a robe over. I realize that it's virtually the same robe that I'm wearing. Her hair is tumbling loosely over her shoulders.

She sees me and freezes in place. We stare at each other for several long seconds before she speaks.

"Sorry," she mumbles. "I didn't expect anyone else here." She turns away as if to go.

"No!" I say, more sharply than intended. "I mean," I continue in a softer voice, "you don't have to go." I turn and step away from the barricade at the edge of the roof. "I'll go."

As I brush past Katniss I feel her lay one hand on my arm. "You don't have to go," she says softly. "I mean, don't let me chase you off."

I stop and turn to look at her. In the dim light, part of her face was lost in shadow, but I can tell that she's not wearing the impassive mask that I've come to think of as her "Katniss Face." And something about the look on her face stops me from going back downstairs.

"Okay," I reply. I take a step back to give her a little room.

Katniss takes a deep breath. "I...I'm actually glad that you're here."

I feel my heart actually skip a beat as she says that. "Oh?" I sound calmer than I actually am.

Katniss looks down at her slippered feet and nervously picks at her fingernails for a moment. "Yeah. I've got something I want to say to you before you...you know.

My heart is pounding too hard to skip any more beats. "What?" I ask softly.

She raises her face to look at me. "I don't want you to go into the arena tomorrow thinking that I'm still mad at you for lying to me."

Is  _that_ it? Well, I guess it's something...and actually, what was I really expecting, anyway? For her to confess her love for me or something?

"I'm sorry I lied to you," I find myself saying.

"I'm sorry I got mad," Katniss replies, then she laughs softly.

"What?" I ask when I hear her laugh.

Katniss covers her mouth with one hand briefly before replying. "We're doing it again."

I frown. "Doing what?"

"Apologizing to each other. Did you ever notice that we don't talk? Half the time one of us is yelling at the other, the other half we're apologizing."

"Oh, come on," I say. "Not  _all_  the time." My mind suddenly flashes on Rory, his back a bloody mess, and me stepping forward to take the rest of his flogging...or Katniss, joining me on my early morning runs back in Twelve...and I realize that, except for a few isolated moments that she, for the most part, is right.

"Yeah," Katniss says softly. "Pretty much all the time." Katniss steps to the barricade at the edge of the roof and looks down at the crowd below.

"It's the same," she murmurs. I join her at the edge and peer down at the wild scene in the streets.

"The same as last year?" I ask.

"Yeah," Katniss replies quietly. She glances over at me. "I shouldn't have been surprised that you were up here. I couldn't sleep last year either."

I smile and glance at my empty mug. "Maybe the hot chocolate will help."

"Gamma asked for something," Katniss says suddenly. "To help her sleep, I mean. Maybe you should have too."

I shrug my shoulders. "Maybe. And maybe I just don't want to waste..." I let my voice trail off as the realization of what I'm about to do hits me again.

"Waste what?" Katniss asks gently as she looks up at me.

"Waste my last few hours before Launch sleeping," I finish.

"You need to get some rest," Katniss says firmly. "You won't be any good if you go into the arena exhausted."

"Did you sleep last year? The night before, I mean?"

Katniss smiles ruefully. "Not very well."

"You were up here last year," I continue. "With Gale." It wasn't a question.

Katniss nods. "Yes," she whispers.

"What did you talk about?" I ask.

Katniss shrugs. "Stuff. Home. The Games. Mostly the Games. It was too hard thinking about home."

I close my eyes and picture myself decorating a cake, the smell of flour and cinnamon heavy in the air. She's right. It's too hard to think about home now.

"You need to get some rest," Katniss says gently as I open my eyes again. "I'm a Mentor," she adds firmly, with a small smile. "I can order you to go to bed."

I laugh softly. "Since when did a District Twelve Tribute ever listen to a Mentor, anyway?"

"That  _would_  be a first," Katniss admits, then adds, "but tomorrow...don't take any stupid chances. Don't go for the Cornucopia if there's the slightest chance that you'll have to fight your way out. Grab whatever's closest to you and get out. Haymitch and I will figure out a way to get you what you need at the Feasts."

"Wow." I say.

Katniss frowns. "'Wow,' what?"

"You sounded like a real Mentor just then," I say jokingly. "For a moment I actually thought that you cared."

That remark earns me a Katniss-glare. "For your information," she says icily, "I do care. I care about Gamma. And I even care about you."

"I'm sorry," I say contritely. "I didn't mean to...it's just that I haven't seen you..."

"Never mind," Katniss says brusquely. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. I just...shit." She laughs softly. "We're doing it again."

"Apologizing?"

"Yeah." Katniss reaches up and brushes a strand of hair off her eyes. Her eyes meet mine...incredible silvery gray orbs that seem to be able to look into my very soul.

"Gamma doesn't like me very much," Katniss says suddenly.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because...because I've been a shitty Mentor to her," Katniss replies, dropping her head back down and choking off a sob. "I hate this," she whispers. "I hate all of this."

I want to pull her into my arms and hold her, and tell her that everything will be all right. I want to...but I don't. Instead, I find myself awkwardly patting her shoulder as she softly cries.

"If it makes you feel any better," I say lightly, "Gamma doesn't like anyone."

Katniss lets out a half-sob, half-laugh and looks up at me, awkwardly wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. "That's not true," she says. "Gamma likes you."

"Please," I reply with a small laugh, "she  _tolerates_  me. That's not the same as  _liking_  me! She's never even called me by name!"

"I know," Katniss says. "She calls you 'Townie.' But she does like you. I can tell."

I frown slightly, unsure what to make of this revelation. Gamma and I had ended up getting along fairly well, but as far as  _liking_  me...

"Not  _that_  way," Katniss adds quickly. She must have seen the expression on my face. "More like...well, like you and Delly."

"Or you with Gale," I add, and I'm immediately sorry that I said it.

"Yeah," Katniss says softly. "Me and Gale."

_Shit_. I quickly change the subject...anything to keep her from thinking about Gale. "Delly would be thrilled, you know."

Katniss looks at me quizzically. "Thrilled about what?"

I smile. "That you know her name. That you've even noticed her. She's got a bad case of hero worship where you're concerned."

At this, Katniss actually blushes. "Oh, come on. Everyone in Twelve knows Delly Cartwright. I mean, that girl smiles at  _everyone_."

"Well, when you get home, make sure that you 'notice' her," I say. "She really would be thrilled."

It's obvious that Katniss is uncomfortable talking about this, because she changes the subject again. "My sister likes you too, you know...a lot. My mother does also."

"I like them too," I reply. I pause for a moment. "And how about you? I mean, do you like me too?" I ask, my voice quavering slightly. I can feel my heart begin to pound again. This is the first time that I've ever even broached the subject of Katniss's feelings for me with her.

Katniss drops her eyes from mine. "I...I don't know," she murmurs. "You...I guess you're okay. I just don't know." She pauses for a moment. "I guess you've noticed that I don't make friends very easily."

_I have to do this,_  I say to myself.  _It's now...or never. And with her here, right now, I can't leave her that note. Not now._

"Katniss."

"What?" Her voice is barely a whisper.

I take a deep, shuddering breath and try to control my pounding heart. "We were five."

Katniss looks up at me with a small frown. "Five? Five years old?"

I nod. "Yes. The first time I saw you. That first day of school. You wore your hair in two braids instead of one. You wore a red plaid dress. My father pointed you out to me."

"Your...father?"

"Yeah," I reply, my mouth suddenly dry. "You were with your father. Poppa said something like, 'See that little girl, Peeta? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a miner instead.'"

Confusion crosses Katniss's face. "I...I don't understand. Your father and my mother?"

"That's what he told me," I reply. "And later that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked, 'Who knows the valley song?' And your hand shot straight up, and you stood on a chair and sang it, and at that moment I was a goner."

"I remember that day," Katniss whispers. "Why...why are you..."

"Katniss," I interrupt, "please. Please let me finish."

Katniss nods, once. I continue. "I never had the courage to speak to you." I laugh softly. "I admit I was scared to death of a little Seam girl. I tried...I tried hundreds...no, thousands of times. But I just never knew what to say."

"Peeta..."

"Please. Five minutes. Please." Katniss looks up at me, her lower lip trembling slightly. I continue on before she can say anything more.

"I should have gone out in the rain and handed it to you," I quickly say, my words almost tumbling over each other. "After all, I burned it for you. You didn't deserve to have me throw it at you like I did."

Katniss is staring at me, her face back to its impassive mask...except for a single tear track trailing down her face from each eye. I expect her at any moment to lash out at me, or to turn and run back into the Penthouse. She does neither.

"And every day, for weeks afterward, I hoped that you would say something. And every day, I tried, and failed, to get up the nerve to talk to you. And every day, you  _didn't_  say anything, and I  _couldn't_  say anything."

"I...I wanted to," she whispers. "I just didn't know how."

"And every day, I watched you and Prim walk home from school," I continue. " _Every_ day."

"Why?" Katniss asks softly. "Why are you telling me all this? Why now?"

"Because," I reply, wanting to hold her, to hug her, to kiss her...and deathly afraid that she'll bolt if I so much as touch her arm, "Because I might not get another chance after tonight. And because -" I pause for a moment "- because you never really noticed me until last years' Reaping."

Realization slowly crosses over Katniss's face as my words sink in. "Me," she whispers. "Earlier, in your Interview. When Caesar asked if you had a girl back home. You were talking about  _me_  the whole time!"

I smile and try to make light of it. "Pathetic, isn't it?" I ask. "Scared to death of a little Seam girl."

Katniss looks back down at the ground and shakes her head. "No," she whispers. "You can't. Not me. Not now. Not when I'm..."

"But I do," I say gently, reaching out and taking her hands in mine. Katniss flinches ever so slightly at the contact...but doesn't pull away. Her hands are incredibly warm in mine.

Katniss doesn't raise her head as she says miserably, "I'm so dirty."

"No," I say firmly. "Katniss. Look at me." Slowly Katniss raises her tear-stained face up to mine. I jerk my head towards the sounds of revelry emanating from the street below. " _You're_  not dirty.  _They're_  dirty."

Katniss looks at me for a moment before replying. "How much do you know?"

"Just that you're being forced to do things you don't want to do," I say truthfully. "And no one said a word to me. I figured it out on my own."

Katniss shakes her head slowly. "Then you know why I can't."

I feel my heart sink at her words. "I understand," I manage to say.

"Thanks," she says. Her hands are still clasped in mine. She pauses for a moment, eyes downcast, before she raises them up to meet mine again. "I...I don't love you. I'm not even sure if I like you or not. But you're wrong about one thing."

"What's that?" I ask. I feel like a fool. It would have been better if I had just slipped her the note instead of telling her to her face like I just did.

"I...I did notice you before the Reaping last year. Long before. Years before, even," she says softly, and then adds, "You never forget the face of the person that was your last hope."

Katniss then releases my hands, puts her hands on my shoulders, rises up on tiptoes, and kisses me gently on the cheek.

"Thank you for the bread," she says as she settles back on her feet. "I'm six years late. But you deserve a thanks."

"I'll take it," I say with a smile. "And you're welcome."

Katniss's hands trail off my shoulders as she takes half a step back. "You...you need to get some sleep. Trust me. You won't get good sleep in the arena."

I nod. "Is that Mentor to Tribute?"

She nods. "Yes."

"One more thing," I say, feeling my mouth go dry again.

Katniss looks up at me, a questioning frown on her face. "What?"

In response, I reach out, cup her face in my hands, and kiss her.

I feel Katniss stiffen for a moment as her hands come up and I feel her palms press against my chest. But she doesn't push me away. Nor does she really kiss me back...instead, she just seems to... _accept_  my kiss. I keep the kiss gentle, with no hint of passion...although she can probably feel my heart pounding under her hands. I feel one hand curl against my chest just before I break my kiss. As I pull back I see her eyelids fluttering, then open and stare into my eyes. Her face has once again fallen into that impassive mask that she wears so well.

Awkwardly, I release her face as her hands drop back to her sides. "I had to do that," I say lamely.

Katniss nods. "I know."

"For luck," I explain.

"Sure," Katniss replies. "For luck."

We stand there in silence for a moment. "Katniss," I begin to say, "I'm -"

"Don't say it," Katniss says abruptly. She turns and walks to the stairs leading back to the Penthouse, and then pauses at the door and turns back to me. "Get some sleep." Her voice is carefully neutral.

"I'm going to win," I tell her suddenly.

Another pause, and then, "Be careful what you wish for." Katniss turns, opens the door, and turns back to me one final time. "Good luck tomorrow...and get some sleep...Peeta."

And then she's gone.

_She knows now. She knows...and I wish now that I had never told her._

I sigh and follow Katniss back into the Penthouse, stopping only long enough to drop my cup off in the sink. Katniss must have headed straight back to bed. I'm the only one up.

I sigh again, and stumble back to bed. I strip my robe off, tossing it casually over a chair, and crawl back into bed.

And I spend the rest of the night staring into the darkness.

**PART V**

A soft knock on my door jolts me out of the restless doze I was in. "Peeta?" Portia calls out. The door opens a crack. "It's time."

"I'm awake," I reply. I tap the light control and the room is immediately bathed in soft light. I swing my legs out from the bed and stand up, then lurch to the bathroom. There, I quickly empty my bladder, wash my hands, and step back into my bedroom.

Portia is nothing but efficient. On the bed are shorts and a t-shirt. A pair of sandals rests on the floor. I quickly get dressed, and then step into the main living area of the Penthouse, where Portia is patiently waiting for me.

"How do you feel?" She asks softly.

"Scared shitless," I admit.

She smiles softly and pats my arm. "Come on," she says, leading me to the roof stairs. I ascend to the roof, with Portia right behind me. I open the door and step out onto the roof. Portia closes the door behind us.

"Cinna and Gamma just left," she says, then points skyward. "There's our ride."

I glance up at the hovercraft that has appeared, almost noiselessly, above us. As I watch, a ladder is lowered from the belly of the hovercraft.

"You don't have to climb it," Portia explains. "Just grab it and step on."

I do as instructed, and, as soon as my feet are on the bottom rung, something happens to me. I'm suddenly frozen...stuck fast to the ladder. I couldn't move even if I tried. The ladder slowly rises into the belly of the hovercraft.

As soon as I'm on board, and while I'm still stuck to the ladder, a white-coated woman steps forward, holding a large syringe. "Good morning, Peeta," she says with a smile. "I'm going to insert your tracker now. This may sting a little." The woman presses the syringe to my left forearm and depresses the plunger. I hear a quick hissing and feel a sharp pain. The floor beneath me closes and I find I can move again. The woman helps me step off the ladder and leads me to a nearby seat.

I wince and rub my arm. "What was that again?" I ask.

"Your tracker," the woman replies. "So the Gamemakers know where you are at all times."

I nod and continue to rub my arm. The tracker had another use, according to Haymitch. It relays physiological information...what Haymitch had referred to as "telemetry"...back to the Gamemakers as well. Body temperature, pulse, respiration, and blood pressure. That way, they knew when a Tribute was dead.

Very efficient.

Portia was aboard now, and, as soon as the floor closes beneath her, the hovercraft begins to move. I watch out the window as we fly over the Capitol. I've never flown before, and, for a moment, I almost enjoy the sensation...until I remember where I am.

"Peeta," Portia says from a doorway to my rear. "Come and eat something."

Truthfully, I didn't have much of an appetite...but I knew this might be my last chance to have a decent meal. So, I sit at the table and eat mechanically, shoving food into my mouth and drinking until I feel I might burst.

When Portia and I emerge from the breakfast room, the windows of the hovercraft are all blacked out. Portia remarks that we must be getting close to the arena. I just nod in response.

The ride in the hovercraft is incredibly smooth. I have no idea that we've landed until Portia tells me so. I rise from my seat and step over to the ladder. Portia is already frozen in place on the ladder and I watch as the floor opens up and Portia is lowered through the hole. I step forward and peer down into the hole, and see that there's a tube extending underground. The arriving Tributes get to see nothing of the arena or the surrounding terrain.

The ladder returns for me. A crewman beckons me onto it and I freeze to the ladder once again. I feel it lower into the tube and for a brief moment I'm enveloped in darkness, and then I emerge into the light. Portia is waiting for me at the bottom.

"This way," she says quietly. We step into something that reminds me of an elevator...except that this elevator travels horizontally rather than vertically. I can feel it begin to move, similar to an elevator, except I rock back and forth slightly as it starts.

"This takes us to your Launch Room," she explains. The Launch Room. There are twenty-four identical rooms in the Catacombs. In District Twelve we call them the Stockyards. The place that cattle go before they are slaughtered.

For about the thousandth time, I regret having Volunteered as a Tribute.

The "elevator" car rocks to a stop and the doors slide open. We emerge into the Launch Room. It's very simple. A tube stands against one wall. There's a bathroom off to one side. The clothing that I will wear into the arena hangs in an open wardrobe on another wall. A couch sits against a third wall.

I step into the bathroom and quickly brush my teeth, fighting down the urge to throw up. I'll need that food that's in my belly later on. I step into the shower and scrub carefully and thoroughly. I dry myself off carefully and wrap the towel around my waist as I emerge from the bathroom.

Portia helps me into the clothing that I will wear into the arena. A fitted blue jumpsuit that zippers up the front, and leaves nothing to the imagination. A belt covered in shiny purple plastic, almost as wide as my hand is long. Nylon shoes, similar to my running shoes back home, with rubber soles. And that's it.

I finger the material of the jumpsuit. It's not very thick. Portia does the same. "I'm guessing that the arena will be warm," she says. "This material looks to be designed more to keep you cool than to keep you warm."

I nod. A warm arena. I just hope it's not a desert, and water is impossible to find. I begin to review in my mind what I learned in training about how to find water.

"Do you want something to eat?" Portia asks gently.

"Maybe some water," I manage to croak. Portia smiles gently and gets me a glass of water. She has me sit on the couch next to her to drink it.

"I almost forgot," Portia says, as she reaches into a pocket. "Your District Token."

I frown. "I don't have...I mean, I didn't bring a Token."

"You do now," Portia says. "Give me your left arm."

I extend my arm as Portia slips a fabric-covered elastic band over my hand. It closes around my wrist. I examine it curiously. It's sunset orange in color.

"From Katniss," Portia explains. "She gave one to Gamma as well."

I run my fingers absently over the band. "It looks like a hair band."

"It is," Portia confirms. She smiles again. "Katniss didn't want either of you to go into the arena without a Token."

"One minute to Launch," a female voice announces. Suddenly I remember that I left Katniss's letter on the dresser in my room.

"Portia," I quickly say, lowering my voice to a whisper, in case the Launch Room is bugged, "I left something on my dresser. A...a note...for Katniss." At this, Portia raises her eyebrows. She knows the rules about Tributes with pencil and paper.

"Do you want me to give it to her?" She asks just as quietly.

"No," I reply, shaking my head. "I...we talked last night. What I said in the note...I said to her last night. Just make sure that it's destroyed. I don't want anyone to get in trouble because of it."

Portia nods and smiles. "Consider it done."

"Thirty seconds to launch."

I stand up, suddenly feeling weak-kneed. I look at Portia. "It's showtime," I say with a forced smile.

Portia walks with me to the tube. I hesitate for just a second, before I step onto the metal plate that will lift me into the arena. I turn and face Portia.

"All the best, Peeta," Portia says before hugging me tightly.

"Thanks," I manage to say as I hug her back. "And thank Katniss for me, please. Haymitch and Effie, too, of course...and Cinna."

The Plexiglas tube begins to descend over me as the female voice announces, "Ten seconds to Launch."

The last words I hear Portia say are, "I will." Then the tube locks into place and I can't hear anything except the pounding of my heart.

Portia smiles and her mouth forms the words "Good luck." I smile weakly in response as the plate under my feet begins to rise.

I'm briefly in darkness and I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing deeply as I ascend into the arena. I count to five, slowly, and open my eyes. I look up and see the brilliance of the sky above the arena filter down into my tube.

It looks like it's a beautiful day.

My head is the first to emerge into the brilliance. I blink my eyes rapidly and clench my hands into fists, willing my heart to slow down. The plate glides to a stop. I'm now standing on top of my Pedestal, squinting my eyes at the incredible brilliance of the morning light.

I catch a glimpse of the Cornucopia, gleaming in the sunlight. And something else is gleaming and glittering. The very ground is shining. Shining and...moving?

It takes my brain a second or two to register what I'm looking at. Water. Between my Pedestal and the Cornucopia lies an expanse of water. Spokes of dry land emanate from the island that the Cornucopia sits on. I notice that I'm situated between two of these spokes...actually a rock-covered finger that leads to the Cornucopia island. I glance to my immediate left and right and see Tributes standing on their own Pedestals, two Tributes between each spoke.

It's very apparent as I look at it and do the math in my head. There are more Tributes than spokes. It's a good ten meters...maybe more...from my Pedestal to the nearest spoke. I glance behind me. I see a beach, twenty meters, maybe more, behind me, and behind that...a thick jungle. I feel a trickle of sweat run down my back. It's already warm.

I face back around toward the Cornucopia. Shit. No matter what, I'll have to do some swimming...or what passes for swimming with me. I'm suddenly glad for the time I spent in the river back home.

My thoughts are interrupted by the booming voice of Claudius Templesmith, and I realize with a shock that only a few seconds have passed since my plate stopped moving. Water laps at my feet as small waves break over the Pedestal. I suddenly have an almost overwhelming urge to pee.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-Fifth Annual Hunger Games begin!"


	16. CHAPTER 16

**BOOK VI - VINDICATION**

**Vindication - To absolve from guilt**

**CHAPTER 16**

**PART I**

Sixty seconds.

The countdown timer appears above the Cornucopia as if suspended by magic. Not magic, of course...just a Holo projection. I watch as if frozen as the numbers begin to change.  _Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight. Fifty-seven._

I shake my head and blink rapidly a few times.  _Snap out of it! Focus!_  Less than a minute to decide on what course of action to take. I glance around at the Tributes in my immediate vicinity. To my immediate left is a scrawny girl from District Five. To my immediate right is Lupa Stonehenge, the powerful girl from District Two. She looks uncertain at this unexpected turn of events. I'm sure she doesn't know how to swim.

I look past the District Five girl and see the swarthy, dark haired boy from District Ten. A glance past Lupa reveals the boy from District Six. I find myself suddenly overcome with relief.

Husker's district partner Evie is nowhere in sight.

I know what I had promised Husker...but the prospect of murdering a fourteen-year-old girl was one of the reasons why I slept like shit last night.

The main reason for my insomnia, of course, was Katniss...and, of course, what I'm facing right now. The Games.

_Fifty-two. Fifty-one. Fifty. Forty-nine._

Lupa is the only Career that I can see in my immediate vicinity...and that has me worried.  _Where are the Fours?_  The Careers from the Fishing District can undoubtedly swim like fish.  _Shit, they can probably swim all the way to the Cornucopia before any of us can manage the short distance to the nearest spoke!_  There's one more thing that has me concerned. I've yet to see either Gamma or Husker.

_This changes everything._  No mad dash in and out to grab a backpack and a weapon if possible. No avoiding the bloodbath in favor of meeting up with Gamma and Husker somewhere away from the Cornucopia. The only thing in my favor is that everyone will have to try to swim to one of the spokes...that means that the only immediate threat will probably come from District Four. I have to come up with an alternate, and fast.

_Forty-four. Forty-three. Forty-two. Forty-one. Forty._

I risk a glance at Lupa. She's scanning around at other Tributes, just like I've been doing. Looking for a friendly face...an ally. By this time I'm pretty much convinced that this girls' swimming ability is worse than my own. And that gives me the germ of an idea.

_If I can make her hesitate for a second or two...I can reach that spoke well ahead of her._

"Hey, Two!" I shout. No response. "Two!  _Two!_  Lupa!"

Lupa swivels her head around at the sound of her name, glaring fiercely at me. I smile at her, which seems to anger her even more.

"What?!" She snaps.

"Got a question for you," I call back. Even separated by several meters I see her eyes narrow.

"What'dya want, cannon-bait?"

"Just this," I reply with a smirk. "How long can you hold your breath?"

"You're fuckin'  _dead_ , cannon-bait!" Perfect. She's pissed. I got under her skin. Now all I can do is hope that was enough to slow her down by two seconds.

_Twenty-Four. Twenty-Three. Twenty-Two. Twenty-one. Twenty._

Nothing to do but wait until the gong sounds. I close my eyes and take a couple of slow, deep breaths. More sweat trickles down my back...my chest...and runs down my forehead.  _Get to the island. Grab a likely looking backpack. Get a weapon...knives if I can, any cutting weapon if I can't. Get_ away  _from the bloodbath!_ _Find Gamma and Husker._

_Stay alive._

_Thirteen. Twelve. Eleven. Ten._

_I kissed Katniss last night. I kissed her and she didn't pull away. But she didn't kiss me back, either. Snow, but her lips were soft! I shouldn't have kissed her...not after all that she's had to deal with..._

_But I had to. It was the only way that I could show her that_ who _she was mattered more to me than_ what _she had been forced to become._

_Snap out of it!_

_Five. Four. Three. Two. One._

I'm in the air as the gong sounds and for a split second I'm afraid I was too fast off the Pedestal...that I'll be blown to bits as soon as I hit the water.

I didn't have to worry.

The water is blood warm as it closes over my head. It shoots up my nose and stings my eyes. I taste salt.  _So much for this lake being a water source. Figures the Gamemakers wouldn't make it_ that  _easy._  I surface almost instantly, sputtering as a mixture of salt water and snot runs out of my nose and down my mouth. I spit in disgust and look around quickly.

I hear sounds of splashing all around me as I spot the spoke.  _There_.  _Straight ahead._  I take a deep breath, put my face into the water, and begin to kick and stroke as though my life depends on it.

Maybe because it does.

I try to dive underwater. I'm more efficient swimming underwater than I am on the surface. But, no matter how hard I try; I can only manage to truly stay under for a second or two before bobbing to the surface again.

I now realize what that wide purple belt is for. I guess it wouldn't do to have a fair percentage of Tributes die by drowning in the first two minutes of the Games.

I keep kicking and stroking toward the spoke and suddenly my outstretched hand encounters rock. I grab onto the slippery boulder and begin to pull myself up and out of the water. I made it!

And then someone grabs my left foot.

* * *

I freeze for a fraction of a second.  _Lupa. It's Lupa._ I kick frantically with my right foot, feeling it connect with something solid, and I hear a grunt of pain in response. The grip on my foot disappears. I don't hesitate. I hoist myself out of the water and onto the slippery rocks of the spoke and immediately jump up into a crouch; spinning to face the opponent that I'm sure is right behind me.

I see two things right away. I'm alone on the spoke. And it wasn't Lupa that grabbed my foot.

The girl from Five is blindly clinging to a rock at the end of the spoke. How did she get over there so fast? Blood is streaming from her nose and mouth, and I realize with a sick feeling that I'm the one that caused her injuries.

Without thinking, I start to move to the end of the spoke to help her...forgetting for a moment that this girl grabbed my foot and would have tried to kill me without hesitation if she had the chance.

Well, she didn't have the chance...and I didn't have the chance to help her. Lupa got to her first.

The girl was still groaning in pain and pawing at her face when I see a hand reach out from the water, grab the top of her head, and force her under water. I catch just a glimpse of spiky reddish hair as the girl from Five thrashes around, manages to lift her battered face above water for an instant, and then, coughing and spluttering, is forced under again.

I do the only thing that I can do under the circumstances. I turn and run for the Cornucopia while Lupa is preoccupied with the girl from Five.

It's a short distance up the spoke to the Cornucopia Island. The spoke is a barren, rock-covered strip of land, no more than a couple of meters wide. But I can already see that Cornucopia Island is anything but barren.

Supplies, weapons, and backpacks of all shapes and sizes are scattered in and around the Cornucopia. I don't have a good view inside...my Launch Pedestal was set off well to the left of center...but I don't think I will even need to go inside. I spot a large green backpack, complete with frame, scarcely ten meters away, and it looks heavy. And, to my shock, it looks like I am the first one on the Island.

And, once again, I'm dead wrong.

I pause for a split second when I reach the pack and bend down to snatch it up when, too late, I hear the sound of running feet and barely have enough time to straighten up when I'm body checked,  _hard_.

_What the fuck?_  I hit the ground, my breath escaping me with a loud  _whoosh_ , and I wince as I collide with what seems to me to be every sharp-sided rock on the Island. Somehow I'm still clutching the pack as I hit the ground, and a good thing too...I catch a split-second glimpse of a figure crouching over me, rock in hand, raising it up to bash my head in.

By pure reflex I bring my hands up to protect my head, forgetting that the pack straps are still clutched in my fingers, as the figure brings the rock down full force, only to collide with the pack instead of my head. The force of the blow drives the pack against my body as I continue to struggle to catch my breath from the wind being knocked out of me when I was body slammed into the ground.

My left arm tingles wildly...part of the blow was transmitted through the pack and into my left arm...but it doesn't seem to be injured too badly. It's then that I see an opening.

My attacker...I still can't see anything from about the waist up as the pack is still in the way...grunts in frustration and shifts around. Vaguely I wonder why a rock and not something with a point or an edge. I don't waste time on idle speculation, though, as I glimpse an opening. It's when my attacker stops moving and raises the rock up again that I strike.

I arch my back, driving my hips upward and to the left. At the same time, my legs fly apart and I twist, catching my attacker just below the hips in the scissors that I made out of my legs. I clamp my legs tightly around my attacker's thighs and twist to the right violently, literally pulling my attacker off of... _his? her?_...feet and causing the attacker to fall heavily against the rocks.

I thrust the pack away from me, scrambling backward, ignoring the unpleasant tingling in my left arm, and grab a rock in my right hand, ready to continue the battle...but the fight is already over.

Thalassa Akioshi, the girl from District Four, lies half on her side, the left side and back of her head bloody from where it had impacted against a rock jutting up from the ground. She's twitching and blinking wildly, moans escaping her mouth as she struggles against the hard blow to her head. I see a mixture of blood and clear fluid running from her ears, nose and mouth.

Again, for an instant, my motivation is to help, not hurt. For the second time in minutes I'm sickened by the thought of hurting another human being that, until just now, had never done anything to me. The feeling passes quickly. I know what I have to do.

I bring the rock down against the exposed side of her head with a sickening crunch, seeing her body jerk violently, then relax and lie still. Breathing heavily, I drop the rock and stagger to my feet, looking for an escape route, almost forgetting the green pack that had, in all probability, just saved my life. My head whips around wildly and I'm almost overwhelmed by a feeling of almost euphoric panic.

"Thalassa!" A voice snaps me back to reality and I spin around, seeing Thalassa's district partner Ishmael Brennan come charging around the side of the Cornucopia. It's time to leave  _now._

I spot the nearest spoke and run directly for it, slowing just long enough to bend down and scoop up a short-bladed machete lying in my path, and then I'm on the spoke, running toward the end. Towards the water and, beyond that, the beach and the jungle.

"Thalassa!  _NO!_ " Ishmael's anguished cry is punctuated by a hissing sound and, out of the corner of my eye, I see a spear flash by me, missing me by a hand's breadth, instead striking an unlucky Tribute that had just finished pulling himself out of the water and onto the spoke.

The Tribute screams in pain as the spear strikes home, striking the boy in his left hip. I don't even break stride, but instead use the backpack that I'm carrying in both hands to thrust the wounded Tribute off the spoke and back into the water, the spear still firmly embedded in his flesh.

Another two seconds and I'm hurling myself into the water once more, clutching the pack firmly in one hand, and the machete firmly in the other. I knew now that I had flotation with that purple belt, so I concentrated on moving clumsily through the water in my grim quest for the beach.

A few minutes of awkward dog paddling and I finally reach water shallow enough to be able to stand up and wade the rest of the way to the beach. Once on dry land, however, I don't stop, plunging ahead into the thick jungle until I'm sure that I'm far enough away from the beach not to be spotted by anyone on Cornucopia Island, in the water, or on the beach itself.

I let my hard earned prizes fall to the jungle floor and follow them a second later, collapsing to my knees, frantically sucking in breath after breath, trying to control my racing heart, every muscle in my body trembling. My left arm has stopped tingling and now simply hurts with a dull, throbbing ache. I experimentally move my fingers and flex my elbow, and then pull my left sleeve up to see the makings of a nice bruise beginning to show.

I sigh in relief. There doesn't appear to be anything broken. I roll my sleeve back down and, as I do, my fingers brush lightly over my District Token...the simple orange hair band that Katniss had asked Portia to give to me. I'm sure that there must be a camera somewhere near, recording me...Haymitch had told me at one point that Mentors are always able to view their Tributes through special view screens that only Mentors used, even if the Tribute wasn't being actively televised.

I look up toward the sky and the thick, triple canopy jungle over my head, and, holding my left wrist out, I say two words.

"Thank you."

Katniss will understand. I only can hope that she's watching.

I then turn toward my pack and machete. I need to find out what I managed to escape with. As I fumble with the pack straps I jump as the first cannon fires, and then fires again. And again. And yet again. I count carefully as each cannon blast signifies a fallen Tribute.

Twelve. Twelve Tributes dead at the bloodbath. And I had a hand in three of them. The girl from Five...I'm sure Lupa managed to drown her after I kicked her in the face. The boy...from District Eight, I now remember...on the spoke that had the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the right time, and had taken a spear meant for me...and I had repaid him by knocking him out of my way and back into the water. And Thalassa Akioshi, the Career from District Four. I could take some solace in the knowledge that I didn't directly kill the girl from Five or the boy from Eight. But I can't spin Thalassa that way.

I killed her.

My tortured stomach finally rebels and I vomit violently, just barely managing to turn my head at the last second to keep my puke off the backpack.  _So much for keeping breakfast_   _down_ , I say to myself. I gag and cough for a minute or two until I'm sure that I'm done, and then I weakly wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I spit a couple of times, trying to clear the foul taste out of my mouth, and realize just how thirsty I really am.

I turn back to the backpack, carefully opening the straps and pulling the contents out. A length of sturdy rope. Some metal tubing, bent into a Y-shape, with additional tubing jutting from the bottom at a right angle to the Y. A single long length of heavy rubber tubing, split down the middle. A square of reinforced nylon, three or four centimeters to a side, with slits cut into opposite sides near the edges. A heavy nylon drawstring bag that, when opened, is found to contain several dozen stainless steel balls ranging in size from the smallest...about seven or eight millimeters...to the largest at close to two centimeters. A one-kilo bag of dried meat. A one-kilo bag of dried fruit. A one-kilo package of crackers. A spool of thin filament. A tarpaulin. And an empty water bottle.

Shit.

I carefully repack everything. I decide not to eat anything until I can find water. As Haymitch is fond of pointing out, "water's your new best friend." And I'm getting thirstier by the minute.

I pick up the machete and examine it closely. It's got a short blade, no more than fifty centimeters. It's heavy and well constructed. And right now, I would just about trade it for a full water bottle.

There's also the matter of my Alliance. Since making my escape from the bloodbath, I hadn't seen or heard another Tribute. I know that half are already dead and I sincerely hope that neither Gamma nor Husker were not among the cannon shots that I heard.

_I need to get closer to the beach,_  I say to myself.  _That's what they would do...I hope. This jungle is so thick that they can be five meters away and I would never see them._

Time to take my first positive action of these Games and start to look for my Alliance. I slip the pack over my shoulders and adjust the straps, and then I pick up the machete, taking a few practice swings with it. It feels comfortable in my hand.

I'm as ready as I'll ever be. I shift around, trying to get my bearings, until I'm fairly confident that I'm oriented towards the salt-water lake. I take one step...and freeze at the sound of a twig breaking behind me.

I spin, my heart pounding, as I draw back the machete.  _If they have any kind of ranged weapon...bow, spear, throwing knife, or trident...I'm dead where I stand._

No arrow whistles out of the underbrush. No knife comes whirling toward my head. No spear or trident flashes in the dappled sunlight just before it strikes home. I'm sure whoever it is; he or she is hearing my heart pounding in my chest.

"Who's there?" I croak, my voice thick in my dry mouth. I try to work up some spit, with no luck.

"Who's there?" I manage to call out again. There's a tiny amount of movement in the underbrush and I tense, gripping the machete tightly. I decide on a bolder tactic. After all, they had the drop on me. If they had any kind of ranged weapon they would have used it by now.

"You either come out," I snarl, "or I come in after you."

More rustling sounds, followed by a small scared voice that softly begs, "Please don't hurt me."

The owner of the voice steps out of the underbrush, and my mouth falls open in surprise. I couldn't have been more shocked if Katniss herself had just revealed herself to me in this hot, stinking jungle.

My stalker is none other than Husker Brown's district partner. The girl that he begged me to kill as soon as we were Launched.

Evie.

**PART II**

_It's called by many names._

_The official name is, of course, Mentor Control. But it's also know collectively as Mentor Central (a take off on Gamemaker Central), and, more informally, the Lounge, the Trench, and, when things are going especially bad, the Pit._

_It's ironic that the official name...Mentor Control...is also the least accurate. For "control" is what the Mentors lack completely. Literally every move in the Games is out of their hands. The Gamemakers control every aspect of the Games, from Reaping to the crowning of a new Victor. All the Mentors can do is offer pre-Games advice and, if the Sponsors are generous, the occasional silver parachute._

_Mentor Central is a tag used more to identify the location...in the same building as Gamemaker Central...than anything else._

_The Lounge refers more to the area immediately adjacent to Mentor Control. It's here that weary Mentors can step out for a few minutes to eat, grab a cup of coffee (or something stronger), and clear their heads before once again dealing with the brutal business of Mentoring. It also has several private phone booths to allow a Mentor that has just lost a Tribute to make that official notification call back to their home district. And, for those Mentors that work solo...Haymitch Abernathy comes to mind...there's even rooms available with beds and private bathrooms to allow a Mentor to shower, change clothes, and even catch a little sleep when time allows._

_The Trench is the most descriptive name for the Mentors' actual work area. Twelve stations, six to a side, each with room enough for three people...two Mentors and an Escort...to work without getting in each other's way. Monitor screens display the Tributes for that district twenty-four hours a day until that Tribute is either killed or becomes the Victor. A pair of larger monitor screens displays the image that is being broadcast to Panem as well as a virtual map, showing the location of each living Tribute. Mentors and Escorts have access to their Sponsor Net, a computer that tracks and tallies each Sponsor donation to that district, as well as the Sponsor Hotline, a call-in system that allows Sponsors to donate over the phone. The Trench can get tense and, at times, downright hostile...especially if a Tribute breaks an Alliance with another Tribute._

_The Pit is what the Trench becomes when a Mentor suddenly and catastrophically loses a Tribute. Eventually, of course, it becomes the Trench again._

_Katniss Everdeen, of course, had toured the Trench as part of her New Mentor Orientation...which, of course, had been sandwiched in between "meetings" with "Games" clients such as Cassius Hammersmith...one of her "regulars"...and Bacchus Brandywine...who prefers to take a quite "dominant" role in their "meetings."_

_There were others, of course...and Katniss has a hard time deciding which of the many men...and women...that she hates the most._

_Truthfully, Katniss hadn't been all that impressed with her tour. Her visit to Gamemaker Central had been much more interesting. She had left her tour with the impression that working in the Trench would be monumentally boring._

_She was very wrong, for one fundamental reason. Most of the Gamemakers got along with one another reasonably well. Of course, there were occasional clashes and personality conflicts, but nothing that either Seneca Crane or Plutarch Heavensbee couldn't handle. Working in the Trench, however, forced Katniss to realize that she was dealing with three very different types of people...those that actively sought out her friendship and company; those that ignored her (and most every other Mentor), and those that actively and openly despised her._

_The ones that ignored her...mostly Districts Five, Six, and Ten...she was fine with. A loner by nature, she was a firm believer in "don't bother me and I won't bother you."_

_Those that were openly friendly to her...Beetee and Wiress from Three, Finnick and Mags from Four, Johanna and Blight from Seven, Cecelia from Eight, Cyrus and Silky from Nine, and finally, Seeder and Chaff from Eleven...Katniss treated cautiously in the beginning, until her Seam wariness allowed her to accept the friendly overtures of these people...even the abrasive Johanna Mason, who, Katniss was to discover, masked an abundance of compassion behind her sarcastic, even borderline cruel, exterior._

_Old Woof from District Eight was left off the "good" list, only because his dementia and near deafness made it almost impossible to communicate with him effectively. Cecelia was forced to bear the brunt of the Mentoring for the Tributes from the Textile District._

_It was the ones that despised her that ended up confusing her the most. Not Brutus and Enobaria from District Two...they made no secret of the fact that they held Katniss personally responsible for the deaths of Cato and Clove, their Tributes from the previous Games (well, Katniss_ had _technically killed Cato, but, in truth, had been nothing but a bystander when Clove died). No, it was the contradicting behavior from Cashmere and Gloss, the sister and brother Mentors from District One, which confused Katniss the most._

_The only pair of sibling Mentors in the history of the Hunger Games, tall, blonde, and gorgeous Cashmere and her equally blonde, handsome and muscular brother Gloss were nothing short of a living legend. Not only were they the only brother-sister combination to ever be crowned Victors, they achieved their Victories in_ back-to-back _Games. They were immensely popular in the Capitol and fiercely loyal to the government in general and to President Coriolanus Snow in particular._

_President Snow repaid their loyalty by selling them at will to the highest bidder._

_Cashmere was the first of the Victors in Snow's stable to reach out to Katniss. At first reluctant to open up to anyone, much less a Career Victor, Katniss was typically stoic and reticent...until Cashmere revealed that she and Katniss had something else in common besides winning the Hunger Games. Even then, it took a while for Katniss to open up to the older woman, but when she did, she discovered that Cashmere not only offered a sympathetic ear, but was also an absolute gold mine of information when it came to the different "quirks" of the various men and women that Snow routinely sold his Victors to._

_"Honey," Cashmere had explained to Katniss, "if you know what they like, you can get them off all that much quicker. And, the faster you satisfy them, the faster you can get the fuck out of there."_

_Other Victors in turn stepped forward to offer Katniss their support and advice...Gloss, Finnick Odair, and even Johanna Mason. But Cashmere had been the first to reach out...that made her attitude toward Katniss now, on the very brink of the Launching of the Third Quarter Quell, even more confusing to the newest Mentor._

_It was Finnick Odair that had ended up taking Katniss aside before the start of the Games to offer his own insight and guidance._

_"Remember this about Gloss and Cashmere," Finnick had said. "Ten months out of the year they're like you and I...whored out at will by our dear President. But they are in full Mentor mode now...and believe me; they haven't forgotten that you killed both their Tributes last year. They may have helped you get over a rough spot or two, but they are_ not  _your friends."_

_"And what about you?" Katniss had asked. "Are_ you _my friend, Finnick?"_

_At this, Finnick just flashed a cocky smile at Katniss and replied, "Only if I deserve to be."_

_Katniss decided that she liked Finnick. She was also very confused by her feelings for Peeta Mellark. And, although she took great pains to conceal it, she was hurt by the way Gloss and Cashmere...especially Cashmere...were treating her._

_Katniss Everdeen may be a Victor and a Mentor...but strip all that away and underneath is an insecure seventeen-year-old girl._

_"Showtime, Sweetheart," Haymitch murmured to her as the screens in the Trench flicker to life, giving the Mentors their first glimpse of this years' arena, just minutes before their Tributes were Launched._

_"Holy shit," Chaff mutters from the District Eleven station adjacent to Twelve's station, "They're fuckin' Launching from a fuckin' lake!"_

_The last words that Katniss hears, as the Tributes rise up onto their pedestals, is the voice of Effie Trinket._

_"Chaff!_ Language! _"_

**PART III**

Evie and I crouch in the tree line, just meters from the beach, and peer out of the dense green growth. Both of us are incredibly thirsty. We both suck on small pebbles in an effort to keep the insides of our mouths wet. We both have been moving as slowly as we dared so as not to lose any more bodily fluids due to sweat. It's no use. The air is so thick and hot that just sitting here, watching, causes us to both perspire heavily.

I sense a small movement to my left and glance over, seeing Evie shifting around, trying to get a better look at the beach.

"This is where you saw the girl from my district, right?" I ask her for the tenth time.

"I think so," she whispers. I sigh. She  _thinks_  so.

Hours have passed since we stumbled into each other, and, so far, we have not seen another Tribute...living or dead. But we both know that they're out there. We just don't want to run in to the wrong ones.

Evie had been lucky. The closest Career had been four Pedestals from her when the gong sounded, and Evie avoided the bloodbath by simply jumping into the water and making for the beach immediately. The Tributes nearest her ignored her completely.

She has no idea how lucky she is to not have had either Husker or I nearby at Launch.

So far, the kindest thing that I've been able to say about her is the she hasn't slowed me down or gotten in my way. And, I had to admit, even though she is scared shitless, she's managed, so far, to control her fear.

It's been said that the true mark of bravery is doing what needs to be done no matter how scared you are.

"Hey," I call out softly. "Do me a favor and keep an eye out behind me, okay?"

"Okay," she replies just as softly, moving around and settling in behind me.

I smile. If nothing else, Evie can be my eyes in the back of my head.

I move my left arm, trying to find a more comfortable position. It aches, no matter what position I move it in to. Sleep will be a challenge, to say the least.

I watch the shadows lengthen across the beach as night approaches. If it gets too much later I'll have to abandon my station and look for a protected place to spend the night. Water is an increasing concern also. I finally urinated about an hour ago and the little bit of liquid that I was able to squeeze out was already, alarmingly, yellowish-brown in color.

No doubt about it. I'm heading straight for dehydration.

I'm sure that Evie must be in a similar situation...but I've yet to hear her complain.

By now, I'm convinced that waiting here is a waste of time. Just because Evie saw Gamma here earlier means nothing. Gamma is probably long gone. I just hope she was able to hook up with Husker and -

There! What was that, off to my right? Just the tiniest bit of movement. Probably a bird or something and I -

No!  _Not_  a bird! I strain my eyes, hoping to catch another glimpse of...yes! There she is! Bless her heart, Evie  _was_  right! Now, to catch her attention...

Gamma was keeping inside the tree line so I couldn't see her all that well...but I knew it was she. Only a slight curve in the beach allowed me to see her at all. It appears that she's moving to the right, slowly but surely. Away from Evie and I.

I make a decision. "Come on," I whisper. Evie doesn't question me. She silently falls in behind me as we start to make our way toward Gamma. I don't dare call out or draw attention to myself. There's no telling exactly where the rest of the Career Pack is.

Moving through the tree line is a lot harder than I thought it would be. Small vines growing close to the ground have a tendency to snag our feet and are tripping us up constantly.

Vines. There's something nagging the back of my mind about vines. If only I could remember! I pause to wipe the sweat from my forehead. I'm incredibly thirsty.

I glance behind me a couple of times, wanting to reassure myself that Evie is still close behind, when something slams into the back of my head. I hear Evie scream loudly as an explosion of pain bursts from my head. I fumble with the machete, trying to do  _something_  to fight back, but it's no use. I'm hit again, awkwardly, as I sink to my knees on the rotting vegetation on the jungle floor.

_Is this it? Is this how it ends? All those months of training...wasted as I die on the first day of the Games?_

Evie continues to scream and I want to tell her to  _shut the fuck up! You'll draw every Career in the Games with that fucking screaming!_  And, as soon as the thought rolls through my stunned brain, I realize that it really doesn't matter. I'm dead anyway.

I have just enough time for one last thought...an apology to Haymitch and Katniss...when I'm hit for a third time and the lights go completely out.

**PART IV**

_Haymitch, Katniss, and Effie sit in the District Twelve Station in the Trench, stunned by what they've just witnessed. Peeta Mellark has just been attacked from behind, brutally clubbed down even as his unlikely ally, Evie Applewhite, screams in fright at the ferocity of the attack._

_The hulking attacker tosses aside the tree branch that he used to repeatedly club Peeta and drops to his knees beside the prostrate body of the District Twelve Tribute, revealing a new weapon as he does...a lethal looking jet-black sickle._

_"No," Haymitch hears Katniss whisper. A sudden burst of cruel laughter from the District Two Station causes Haymitch and Katniss to glance over, irritated and upset at the deliberate interruption._

_"Abernathy!" Brutus, the big District Two Mentor, can't resist taunting the District Twelve Mentors. "Everdeen! I thought your boy was supposed to be some kind of outer district 'Career!'" Brutus shakes his head in disgust. "Some 'Career!' Offed on the first day by some kid with a stick!" He snickers. "Pathetic little shit!"_

_"Don't," Haymitch says softly, but firmly, as Katniss begins to rise from her chair. He puts his hand on her arm for emphasis, gripping it firmly. "This asshole thrives on conflict," Haymitch explains. "Best thing you can do now is to ignore him. Okay?"_

_Katniss freezes in place, slowly settling back down in her chair, and all the while looking daggers at Brutus._

_Haymitch shakes his head as Brutus continues his laughing taunts. "Well, at least he's consistent. Every Games he manages to remind me exactly why I can't fucking stand him."_

_Beside him, Katniss gasps in surprise. Haymitch turns his attention back to the bank of monitors as Katniss points a shaking finger at a screen and whispers, "Look!"_

_For the first time, Peeta's attacker is completely revealed...and Haymitch's eyes widen in surprise as the face comes in to clear view._

_His hair is matted and one side of his face is caked with blood, giving him a fearsome appearance...but there's no doubt as to who it is._

_Husker._

* * *

_Husker straddles Peeta, hefting the sickle in his right hand as his left grabs the neck of the coverall, jerking it down. His eyes narrow as he raises the sickle to deliver the final, killing, blow...only to be stopped by small, determined girl, who lunges forward and wraps her skinny arms around Husker's right arm, effectively preventing him from delivering the fatal cut._

_"Husker!" Evie screams. "NO!"_

_The girl is no match for the huge boy's strength, and he tosses her aside with little effort...but her voice manages to penetrate his brain just enough to make him pause for a moment or two...long enough to save Peeta Mellark's life._

_Husker looks at his district partner in confusion. "Evie?" His voice is tinged with disbelief. "What...how...you're still alive?"_

_"Please don't hurt him," Evie manages to whisper, staring up at Husker with wide, frightened eyes._

_Husker slowly releases Peeta's coverall and, with a shaking hand, wipes his fingers across his bloody, sweating face. He glances down at the boy beneath him, now starting to moan and stir, and the sickle falls from his hand as his eyes widen in recognition._

_"Peeta," he whispers. "Oh, shit!"_

_"'Oh, shit' is right, farm boy," a new voice says sarcastically. Husker glances up and Evie jerks to one side in surprise and fear as a slight, dirty figure steps into the small clearing. "I may be wrong, but I don't think that this is how this whole 'Alliance' thing is supposed to work."_

_Husker's eyes narrow slightly as he looks at the newcomer. "Gamma?"_

_Gamma Churchill shakes her head and smiles ruefully. "Been lookin' for you all fuckin' day, Husker. Townie too." She squats down next to Peeta and her fingers gently probe the raised lumps on the back of his head. Peeta moans and jerks a bit as she touches him. Gamma glances up at Husker. "You did a fuckin' number on him, I'll give you that." She pauses and glances over at Evie, who was watching the encounter silently. "You bring her with you?"_

_"No," Husker replies softly. "She -"_

_"She's with me," Peeta says with a moan, as he turns his head to one side, his eyes fluttering open. "Husker. You want to get off me?"_

_Husker rocks back, suddenly aware that he's still straddling Peeta, who tries to push himself up on shaking arms, then gives up and contents himself with flipping over and sitting up._

_Peeta gingerly runs his fingers over the back of his head, wincing a bit as he does so. "Ouch! Fuck!"_

_Husker shifts around awkwardly. "Hey...uhh...shit, I'm really sorry."_

_Peeta glares at Husker. "Yeah. Thanks. That makes it_ all _better!"_

_Husker looks defensive. "Look, I didn't know it was you! I didn't expect you to be with_ her _-" he jerks a thumb at Evie "- after all! And, I dunno if you've noticed it or not, but it's pretty hard to see_ anything _in this fuckin' jungle!"_

_"Especially with all that shit on your face," Gamma says. "What the fuck happened, anyway?"_

_"Little trouble back at the Cornucopia," Husker mutters. He doesn't elaborate further._

_Peeta shakes his head, causing him to groan. "I guess I should consider myself lucky that you didn't attack me with that," he says, pointing to Husker's sickle._

_"Your pack was in the way," Husker explains. He then points to Evie. "And she stopped me before I could use it."_

_Peeta glances over at Evie. The girl is sitting on the ground, knees drawn up, watching and listening but saying nothing._

_"Hey, Evie." Peeta says softly. Evie looks up at him expectantly. "Guess I owe you one, huh? Thanks."_

_"You're welcome," Evie replies softly. A ghost of a smile flickers across her face._

_"Listen," Gamma says, "this is all very touching, but I think we need to get the fuck outta here. With all the noise that you three made, you'll have every Career in the arena here in no time."_

_"She's right," Peeta mutters. He tries to stand, fails, and then, on his knees, extends a hand. "Someone help me up."_

_Husker is on his feet immediately, grasping Peeta's outstretched hand, and carefully helps him up. Once up Peeta wobbles a bit as Husker and Gamma steady him, and then he waves them off._

_"I'm okay," he says. He works his tongue around in his mouth. "First things first," he continues. "We need water."_

_Husker wipes ineffectively at the dried blood on his face. "Yeah. Water."_

_Gamma stares at both boys in amazement for a moment, her gaze lingering on Husker's sickle and Peeta's short machete. "You're fuckin' kiddin', right?"_

_"What? No!" Husker replies. "I'm pissin' brown. Ain't found any water fit to drink yet."_

_Gamma shakes her head in disgust. "You two_ did _go through the same training as me, right? And you both have blades, right?" She impatiently extends her arm towards Peeta. "Gimme that," she demands, pointing to his machete. Wordlessly, Peeta hands the heavy blade over._

_Gamma takes the machete and glances around as if looking for something. Hefting the blade, she steps toward a thick vine hanging at about face height. Swinging the blade awkwardly, she chops at the arm-thick vine, hacking at it several times until she cuts through, and then she cuts again, selecting a spot about a meter from the first cut. Once again, she hacks through the vine, hands the machete back to Peeta, and picks up the length of vine that she cut off._

_"I sure hope that shit I learned in the training center works," she mutters as she hoists the vine over her head, opens her mouth, tilts the vine up...and is rewarded as a stream of clear, fresh water fills her mouth._

_It wasn't much...a meter produces about a mouthful...but it was water._

_Husker and Peeta spend the next few minutes busily cutting lengths of vine as the quartet attempts to quench their thirst. They only managed a few swallows of water each, but that was enough. Just the knowledge that they could get water would be enough to tide them over...for now, anyway._

_"Okay," Gamma finally says as she tosses another length of vine to the ground, "we should think about getting outta here."_

_"I agree," Peeta replies. "Where to?"_

_"Away from the beach," Husker chimes in. He points back over his shoulder where the jungle appears even thicker. "That way."_

_"As good a ways as any," Gamma says, shrugging her shoulders. She points to the pack on Peeta's back. "Any food in that thing, by chance?"_

_"Some," Peeta admits._

_Gamma nods her head. "Okay. Let's get outta here and find a place to hole up for the night while it's still light enough to see."_

_The alliance begins moving off away from the beach...Husker and Peeta leading, with Gamma and Evie trailing a few steps behind._

_"Hey," Gamma calls out softly. "Kid. Evie."_

_Evie glances over at the older girl. "What?"_

_Gamma puts a hand on the smaller girl's shoulder. "You did good today. Townie's alive 'cause of you."_

_"Thanks," Evie says quietly._

_Gamma smiles and pats the girl on her shoulder. "No, kid. Thank_ you. _"_

* * *

_A Gamemaker enters the Trench just as Haymitch, Katniss and Effie sit back, allowing the tension from the violent encounter between Peeta and Husker to drain away._

_"Attention, please," The Gamemaker says loudly. "The first Feast will be tomorrow at sunrise, arena time. Head Gamemaker Crane has directed that Sponsor gifts that are to be included in tomorrow's Feast be purchased and recorded by sundown, arena time, tonight, if you want to include them in tomorrow's Feast." The Gamemaker pauses for a moment, then adds, "That's all for now. I'll be back after the sundown deadline for your gift listings."_

_The Gamemaker turns, and, without another word, strides out of the Trench._

_The assembled Mentors and Escorts are silent for a moment as they process the announcements. For some, the reality of these Games finally sinks in. There would be no silver parachutes, no clever way to send messages with the Sponsor gifts._

_For others, the announcement carries no sense of urgency, no importance. These Mentors have already lost their Tributes. Old Mags, who was Mentoring Thalassa Akioshi, had been forced to watch her Tribute die at the bloodbath...rare enough for a Career Tribute. In fact, other than Ishmael Brennan from Four and the girl from Eight, all the rest of the surviving Tributes were in district pairs...One, Two, Nine, Eleven and Twelve all have both Tributes still alive._

_The Mentors for these districts get to work. Haymitch and Katniss huddle in their station, as Effie tallies their available Sponsor money._

_"Water," Haymitch says flatly. "Cuttin' vines is okay short term, but they need water."_

_Katniss nods. "So how much do we send?"_

_Haymitch shakes his head. "No. No bulk water. At best we'd only be able to send a few bottles, and that'd be gone quickly anyway. No, we need to send them a way for them to collect their own water."_

_Katniss sighs in frustration. "Like what? Water purification tablets?"_

_Haymitch straightens up and turns to the display of the arena that was up on one of the view screens in their station. He stares at it thoughtfully for a moment before turning back to Katniss._

_"Look at this," he says, snapping a finger against the view screen. "Other than the lake, not a single water source. Not one pond, creek, stream, or river!" Haymitch grunts softly. "Is there a spring someplace? Something that we aren't thinking of?"_

_Haymitch makes a half-turn in his chair and taps on a computer screen. "Let's see what's available for sale this year," he mutters, half to himself._

_Katniss pushes her chair in close to where Haymitch is working. "What are you looking at?"_

_"Sponsor gift listings," Haymitch replies, almost absently. "Let's see...water...water containers...water purification...hey, look at this...'water desalinization.'"_

_The image on the screen was that of a complex array of plastic bottles and tubing. "It looks like a still," Katniss remarks, thinking of Ripper's white liquor still that kept the one-armed woman in business in the Hob for so many years...until the Hob was burned to the ground, of course._

_"It is," mutters Haymitch. "Solar powered, turns salt water into fresh, and...holy shit! Look at the price!" Haymitch spins around in his chair. "What's our balance, Effie?"_

_Effie Trinket taps a key on the Sponsor Net computer and quotes a price to Haymitch, who grunts in disgust and turns away._

_"Fuck. Nowhere_ near _what we need!" Haymitch looks thoughtful for a moment, then snaps his fingers and stands up. "Effie, can you hold down the fort for a couple of minutes?"_

_Effie looks over her shoulder at Haymitch. "Well, of course I can! This is not my first Games, after all! Just remember, you and Katniss have a meeting with potentials in the Sponsor's Lounge in an hour."_

_"This won't take that long," Haymitch replies before turning to Katniss. "Come on, Sweetheart. Time you had a lesson in Mentor-to-Mentor negotiations."_

_Katniss stands up and follows Haymitch out of the station. "Where are we going?"_

_"Not far," Haymitch replies. "District Nine, to be exact." Haymitch and Katniss walk down the short line of stations until they reach the one labeled "9." Haymitch lightly knocks on the wall._

_"Anyone home?" Haymitch asks lightly as he and Katniss step into the station. A tall, gaunt man of indeterminate age, his long gray hair tied back in a ponytail, spins around in his chair. His eyes narrow when he spots Haymitch._

_"Hide the good hooch, Silky!" The man turns to his partner, a plain-faced, robust woman with long, dark brown hair. "And you just keep your hands where we can see 'em, Abernathy!"_

_The man and woman stand up and greet Haymitch warmly. Haymitch introduces them to Katniss as Cyrus Gray and Silky Black, District Nines' only two Victors. Although Katniss can't begin to guess their ages, something about the pair suggests that they are both somewhat older than Haymitch. Both Victors...now, of course, Mentors to Husker and Evie...are plainspoken, open, and friendly. Katniss makes a snap judgment...something she rarely ever does...and decides that she likes them both._

_Haymitch quickly outlines his proposal of combining Sponsor money, stressing the need for providing the "Anti-Career Alliance," otherwise known as Peeta, Gamma, Husker, and Evie, with a much-needed desalinization still._

_Cyrus shakes his head sadly. "No can do, Haymitch. Those things cost a freakin' fortune and we...well, we just don't have the cash."_

_"Donations have come to a screeching halt," Silky adds, "once that idiot Husker attacked your boy. Now everyone thinks he's a turncoat."_

_"A what?" Katniss whispers to Haymitch._

_"A traitor," Haymitch explains softly. "It's an old...I'll explain later."_

_"As I was sayin'," Cyrus continues, "money's tight. I think that I may have enough to send Husker some medicine for that nasty cut on his head. But that's it."_

_Haymitch shrugs his shoulders. "It was a long shot," he says. "But I had to try. Thanks anyway...Cyrus...Silky. Let's go, Sweetheart. Back to work."_

_"It was nice meeting you," Katniss says, somewhat lamely, as she and Haymitch turn to leave._

_"Likewise," Cyrus says with a grin, as Silky adds, "I'm sure we'll be seein' more of each other, dear."_

_As they walk back to their station, Katniss turns to Haymitch and says, "I've been thinking. That still probably wasn't such a good idea, anyway."_

_"Oh?" Haymitch replies. "Do tell, Sweetheart."_

_Katniss doesn't hesitate. "It's big, it's bulky, and it's too expensive to risk someone else grabbing it during the Feast tomorrow."_

_Haymitch nods thoughtfully. "Suggestions?"_

_"We either don't send anything at all, or send something cheap, so if someone else does get it, it won't matter as much."_

_Haymitch pauses at the entrance to the District Twelve station and turns to face Katniss, a grin on his face. "Sweetheart, you're thinking like a Mentor now. Nice work! Okay, let's go see if there's anything that we_ can _send them."_

_Katniss is strangely pleased by Haymitch's praise._

* * *

_Katniss points to the computer screen. "That's it."_

_Haymitch stares at the object for several moments. A small metal tube, tapered at one end, it looks like a pour spout without a bottle attached. "What is it?" Haymitch finally asks._

_"A spile," Katniss explains. She puts her mouth near Haymitch's ear and says in a whisper, "My Dad had one. He used it to collect sweet sap from the sugar maples in the forest."_

_Haymitch rubs his chin thoughtfully. "How does it work?" He doesn't mention Katniss's whispered confession about her father's' "outside the fence" activities._

_"You bore a hole in a tree with a knife, and stick this part in." Katniss points at the screen again. "This hook on top you can use to hang a bucket from. After a while, liquid starts flowing from the spile and runs out this end." Katniss traces the dimensions of the spile as she speaks._

_"This is it," Haymitch says confidently. "It_ has _to be. It wouldn't be listed if it wasn't." Haymitch leans forward and examines the image on the screen more closely. "Good. Not too expensive. Okay, Sweetheart. Get one ordered. And, hopefully, Peeta or Gamma will get to this before anyone else."_

_Katniss quickly taps out the order on the keyboard. "I added a small knife, too," she explains. "For boring the hole in the tree. And some medicine for Peeta's head," she adds, almost shyly._

_Haymitch nods, a small grin creasing his face. "Okay." He turns to Effie. "We have that meeting with potentials. See that these items make it onto tomorrow's Feast Inventory, okay?"_

_"Consider it done," Effie replies with a smile._

_A few minutes later, as Haymitch and Katniss leave the Trench, bound for their meeting with potential Sponsors, Haymitch says, "Nice job thinking outside the box on that one, Sweetheart."_

_Katniss frowns. "Outside what box?"_

_Haymitch sighs as he holds the door open for her. "Never mind," he says, shaking his head. "I'll explain later."_

**PART V**

"This is as good a place as any," I say as we come to a clearing in the jungle. I peer up into the sky. "We should have plenty of light to set up camp."

Wordlessly, Gamma and Evie grab my machete and Husker's sickle and begin to cut lengths of thick vines, or, as Gamma calls them, "jungle canteens," while Husker and I open my pack and lay out the contents, first spreading out the tarp. We had decided that we would sleep on the tarp tonight...the sky looks clear so we didn't see a need to set up the tarp to keep rain off of us.

Of course, in the arena, where the Gamemakers controlled the very weather, that meant absolutely nothing.

Husker nods approvingly at the rope and the packages of food. He picks up the roll of thin filament and looks at it questioningly.

"Snare wire," I explain. "Remember the snares class?"

"Oh," he says, dropping the roll back onto the tarp. "I haven't seen any signs of animals that we could trap. Have you?"

I shake my head and groan at the sudden stab of pain that slight motion caused. Husker notices my distress and moves forward, saying, "Shit. I'm really -"

I hold my hand up toward him. "Don't. Say. It." I manage to spit out through pain-clenched teeth. I clasp one hand over the lumps on the back of my head and squeeze my eyes shut, willing the pain to subside. Eventually it settles back into a dull throbbing.

I open my eyes and glance over at Husker. Still irritated at him, I ask, "So you didn't manage to grab a pack before leaving?"

"Yeah," Husker replies. "I mean, I did. I had one. I...I lost it."

"What happened to it?" I ask as I lay out the last of the packs' contents...the oddly shaped metal tubing, the rubber tubing, the square of nylon, and the bag of steel balls.

"Lost it," Husker repeats abruptly. "Same time I got this." He runs his fingers over the wound on his forehead.

"Oh." I decide to change the subject. I know that wound has been hurting him, but he hasn't complained. I realize that I need to remember that he attacked me by accident, thinking I was a different Tribute. "I sure wish we had gotten away with at least one ranged weapon."

Husker picks up the metal tubing. "Oh, but you did."

I frown. "What are you talking about?"

"This." Husker holds up the metal tubing. He grabs the rubber tubing and the nylon square. He quickly laces the rubber tubing through the slits on the nylon square, and then attaches the tubing to metal eyes located at the top of the "Y" shaped metal tube. Once he was done, he scans the ground and picks up a small rock. He seats the rock in the nylon square and turns to look at me.

I'm still confused as to what it's supposed to be. "What is it?"

Husker grins. "A slingshot, dumbass." He turns, draws the rubber tubing back, points at a tree a few steps away, and the lets the tubing go. The rock in the nylon square impacts the tree trunk with a satisfying  _thwack!_  "Or, more properly, a 'wrist rocket.'"

I'm impressed and worried at the same time. This weapon doesn't have the same impact as, say, an arrow or a spear...but, at the same time, I can see how deadly it could be. And I have no idea how to use it.

_All that time spent learning knives!_  I look at Husker. "How do you know about these?"

Husker scans the ground for another rock. He seats it, aims at a different tree, pulls back, and fires. He misses. "We run into some nasty critters from time to time in the Tesserae fields," he explains. "There's always one or two on every crew that are allowed to carry these."

"Maybe you better keep it, then," I say, somewhat reluctantly. After all, it was in  _my_  pack.

Husker shakes his head and thrusts the wrist rocket toward me. "No," he says firmly. "It's yours. Besides, I can't hit shit with one of these."

I take the weapon reluctantly, along with the bag of steel balls. I now realize that the steel balls are, in fact, ammunition for what Husker calls the "wrist rocket," but like him, I prefer to practice with rocks.

I spend the rest of the afternoon shooting various sizes of rocks at different targets, stopping only to take in some water and eat a little bit of the food that's in my pack. Gamma and Evie show only a passing interest in the weapon, both girls being more interested in trying to quench their thirst and eating something.

After returning with the water-laden vines, and after eating a handful of dried meat, some dried fruit, and a few crackers, Gamma announces her intention to climb a nearby tree to try to see if she can spot other Tributes, and also to see if she can see any potential water sources. Husker, Evie and I watch anxiously as Gamma disappears into the thick canopy over our heads, and is gone for several minutes before climbing down. We wait impatiently for her to catch her breath so she can make her report.

"Well?" I finally ask impatiently.

Gamma finishes draining a length of vine before replying. "I couldn't see any water, other than that salt lake, or any other Tributes," she says. "We're almost all the way behind the Cornucopia. The whole arena is shaped kinda like a big bowl, with the Cornucopia in the center."

"Could you tell how big it is?" Husker asks. "The arena, I mean."

Gamma shakes her head. "No," then adds, "but it doesn't seem very big. Not like last years, for example."

We all sit back on the tarp, trying to digest this information. We definitely need a better water source than the vines. The little bit of food in my pack wasn't going to last us very long. We hadn't seen any signs of animals or of edible plants so far. Husker and I were both wounded already.

We try to conserve energy for the rest of the day, moving the tarp to the shade, resting as much as possible. We learn that both Gamma and Evie, upon seeing the layout of the Cornucopia, had opted to make an immediate break for the beach instead of trying to chance grabbing supplies during the bloodbath. Husker was still closed-mouthed about his bloodbath experience, only admitting to being hurt there and losing a backpack.

I manage to get in a couple of hours of practice with the wrist rocket, until I'm now reasonably sure of hitting a man-sized target with the first shot at distances up to about five meters or so at least half the time. Not perfect by any means but better than what we had before...which was nothing. Still, what I wouldn't give for a half-dozen good throwing knives and a pair of good fighting knives!

Evie has to be the biggest surprise of these Games so far. She went in virtually untrained and on several occasions during training had seemed on the verge of a breakdown. Even now, she still hardly speaks, and then only when spoken to. Yet, I know I owe this girl my life...and I also know that there's no way I can ever pay that debt to her.

After all, there's only one Victor.

We had all been expecting the first Feast announcement all afternoon, but it still startled us when it came. The disembodied voice of Claudius Templesmith booms out over the arena just minutes before sundown.

"Attention, Tributes. Attention. The first Feast will be held at sunrise tomorrow morning on the beach facing the mouth of the Cornucopia. Remember, this will be your only opportunity to receive any Sponsor gifts. We hope to see you all there."

We all sit in silence for a few moments as the sun dips down below the horizon. Husker finally breaks the silence.

"Do we go?"

"Yeah," I say slowly. "We have to."

"Only if it's safe," Gamma adds.

I laugh bitterly. "Safe? Gamma, if there's a pack for us there, then it's something that we need to stay alive! Do you just wanna give that away?"

Gamma says nothing. "One thing's for sure," I add. "If there's a Feast every day, this will be the shortest Games in history."

* * *

Nightfall.

It was still warm, even with the sun down for several hours. The moon was up, peeking a hand's breadth over the horizon. All of us are exhausted by our first day...and, at the same time, strangely elated. We've survived the first day of the Hunger Games.

I'm startled by the strains of the National Anthem as it begins to play, and I stare up into the night sky as a parade of faces is projected over our heads...the pictures of the twelve Tributes that died during the bloodbath today.

I wince inwardly as the face of Thalassa Akioshi appears above my head...my first and - so far - only confirmed kill. I wince again as I see the faces of the girl from Five and the boy from Eight...neither one dead by my hand, but both dead because of me regardless.

Husker is laying next to me on the tarp and I hear him give off an almost inaudible whimper when the darkly pretty face of the girl from District Ten flashes overhead. He's silent for a moment before I hear him start to cry softly.

"Was it her?" I whisper. "The girl from Ten?"

"I'd just grabbed the pack and was making for the water when she hit me," Husker replies, sniffing back another sob. "I'm not sure what with. All I knew was that it hurt like hell and I was bleeding all over. She was fighting me for the pack and I swung the sickle at her. The point caught her and ripped half her throat away when I pulled back."

"You did what you had to do," I say lamely, all the while knowing exactly how he feels.

"She was nice to me," Husker continues. "Last night, before the Interviews, she was standing right behind me in line. We talked a little bit. I made her laugh a couple of times." Husker pauses and takes a deep, ragged breath. "She was nice to me and I killed her today...and I didn't even know her name."

And, as my friend cries softly, I decide to never mention his lost backpack again.

* * *

Gamma takes the first watch. I ask her to wake me once the moon has reached its zenith in the sky. I shift around on the tarp uncomfortably. I should be sound asleep...I know I'm exhausted...but, between the pain in my head and the throbbing that's returned in my left arm, sleep is dancing just out of my grasp.

The jungle is unnaturally silent. No wind, no insect sounds, no bird, no animals.  _At least we'll be able to hear someone sneaking up on us_ , I say to myself.

I think about Husker, torn up with guilt for having to kill the girl from Ten. My friend isn't thinking about the obvious...that she attacked him first, that this is, after all, the Hunger Games...no, all he can think about is that he murdered a pretty girl that was nice to him last night.

I hope he will be able to put it behind him.

I begin to think about strategies for the Feast tomorrow. Do we all go, or just a couple of us? Do we try stealth or a more direct approach? And just how badly do we want our Feast/Sponsor Gifts? Bad enough to fight for? To kill for? To die...

I jerk awake at an unexpected sound...the sound of a deep, bell-like tone, like a clock striking the hour. "Easy," Gamma mutters. I open my eyes, straining to see in the darkness. The moon is just about at its zenith.

The deep, bonging tones continue. I try to count them.  _Six. Seven. Eight. Nine._  They stop abruptly.

"Nine?" I whisper to Gamma.

"Twelve," she corrects me. Twelve. What was the significance? Twelve Tributes left alive? Twelve dead Tributes? Twelve Districts?

A blinding flash of lightning suddenly illuminates the arena. I glance over to our right, in the direction of the bonging tones, and see a huge bolt of lightning playing about an enormous tree. There's something really unnatural about what I'm seeing. By rights that tree should be on fire by now...but it wasn't.

The gigantic lightning bolt disappears, only to be replaced by a rolling lightning storm that seems to be centered on that huge tree off to our right. Vaguely I hear Evie whimper and see Gamma wordlessly take the younger girl in her arms. Husker rises up off the tarp. Between the light from the moon and the lightning flashes I can see the sleep creases in his bleary face.

"What the fuck?" he mutters.

"Lightning storm over there," I reply softly. "Go back to sleep. I'll wake you in a bit for watch."

To my surprise and shock, Husker does just that. In a minute, he's softly snoring.

Gamma, sitting next to me with Evie cradled in her arms, laughs softly. "Guess he musta been tired," she says.

"We all should be tired," I reply, as I watch the unnatural lightning storm.

"You got a point," Gamma says with a yawn. "You awake?"

"Yeah," I reply. "I got the watch. Get some sleep."

"'Kay," she replies sleepily. "G'night, Townie."

"'Night," I softly say. In a few minutes, I hear Gamma's even breathing join Husker's snores. I work my tongue around my dry mouth, debating whether or not to try to hack open a vine in the dark, and decide against it. Even with a full moon and with almost continual lightning flashes to guide me, it's not worth the risk of slicing myself open. I'll wait until it's light enough to see.

I sit facing the lightning storm, my arms wrapped around my knees, and allow myself to think of Katniss for the first time since that morning. I find myself wondering what she's doing...and I get a brief, ugly picture of Katniss engaging in "Games Business" with some fat old Capitolite. Gritting my teeth, I force that image out of my head, replacing it instead with the memory of how her lips felt against mine. Absently, I run my fingers over my chapped, parched lips, and wonder if she will kiss me back if I ever get the chance to kiss her again.

_I have to win this thing. My presence here has vindicated me. I was on Mandatory Viewing tonight. There can't be a soul left in Twelve that still blames me for anything bad...especially not Katniss Everdeen. One thing at a time. Win this, re-earn Katniss's respect...and then earn her love._

I don't know how long these thoughts filled my mind. All I do know is that the lightning storm stops as abruptly as it started. It doesn't trail off...it doesn't slow down. It stops as though someone, somewhere, flicked a switch.

I hear a soft snore from Husker and decide to let him sleep for a while more. Suddenly, the moon's light dims and I look up in alarm, only to see clouds forming over my head at a rapid, even unnatural, pace.

_What now? More lightning...this time right overhead?_

A moment later my question is answered as I feel a drop hit the top of my head, followed by another, and another, and still another. All around me I can hear the sound of raindrops hitting the plastic of the tarp, the leaves in the trees, even the ground.

Rain!

Rain! Blessed rain! I grab my pack and begin to fumble with the straps. I need to put my water bottle out in the rain to fill it for later. Exuberantly I throw my head back to catch the falling drops in my mouth, just as I begin to hear the rest of my Alliance stirring from their slumber, awakened by the life-saving rain now falling on us faster and faster.

My mouth fills with large drops, and to my surprise and disgust, the rain tastes...horrible. Warm, thick, salty...with an almost meaty, coppery flavor. I gag and spit the mouthful out, spitting several more times to get the horrible taste out of my mouth.

I hear cries of disgust rise up from the tarp as this awful rain pummels my Alliance, now fully awake. "What the fuck?" I hear someone...Gamma, most likely, scream out.

I throw on my pack, blindly clutching the wrist rocket in my left hand as I stagger to my feet. I loop the drawstring from the bag of steel balls around my left wrist.

"Under the tarp!" I'm sure Husker shouts this out. No matter. It makes perfect sense. We all scramble to squeeze under the tarp, the deafening drumming of the rain striking the plastic surface. There's no escaping the thick, cloying odor of this awful rain under the tarp, however, and the temperature rises quickly. Still, it's better than being stuck outside...until the wind suddenly picks up and effortlessly rips the tarp away.

I stagger to my feet once again, blindly groping out with my hand until I encounter someone. "Take my hand!" I yell and feel fingers close firmly around mine. "Everybody, join hands!"

"What now?" I hear Gamma yell out.

I think quickly. We can't stay here. We can't go further up hill. I make a snap decision. "The beach! Head to the beach!"

"What is this?" Husker's voice penetrates the din of the falling rain. "What the fuck  _is this_?"

And, as we begin to stumble blindly down towards the beach, Gamma answers him.

"What the  _fuck_  do you  _think_  this is, farm boy?" She asks, her voice tinged with hysteria. "I'll tell you what the  _fuck_  it is!" She stumbles, recovers, and then continues, her voice now barely audible over the incredible din.

"It's motherfuckin'  _blood_!"


	17. CHAPTER 17

**CHAPTER 17**

**PART I**

I still smell like blood.

The four of us had managed to stumble downhill during the raging bloodstorm, staying together only because we kept our hands tightly linked the entire time. It took us the better part of an hour to work our way to the beach.

By the time we stumble onto the sand, we were bloody, muddy, filthy wrecks...virtually blinded by the blood rain and half drowned by the intensity of the storm. The rain seemed to stop as if by magic the second we burst from the jungle onto the clean, white sand. As a group we plunge into the clear, salty water...totally unmindful of the possible danger from the Careers, or other Tributes for that matter. We were only thinking of one thing at that time.

Washing that stinking blood off.

I don't know how long we stayed in the water...scrubbing at our skin and our clothes with handfuls of gritty white sand. In the end, though, it didn't matter. Our clothes, our skin, even our hair had an unnatural ruddy tint to it that refused to come off.

Of course, our exertions, combined with the shower of blood and our extended salt-water bath, had made us thirstier than ever.

Husker and I duck back into the jungle, looking for some likely looking vines to cut for the bit of water each contained...only to find that the foliage was still dripping clots of blood. We both retreat in disgust and decide to move down the beach until we can find a patch of jungle that's been untouched by the rain.

I don't like leaving either Gamma or Evie unprotected, but when I try to push my machete onto Gamma, she refuses to take it...for now.

"Look, Townie," she had said, "the kid and I will be fine. We'll stay in the water. That way, we can see and hear someone coming long before they see us. You need the blade to cut us some water. Just don't take forever, huh? Evie and I are thirsty!"

That kind of logic is hard to argue with.

And so, Husker and I move as quietly as possible, hugging the tree line, trying to find a patch of jungle untouched by the blood rain. I'm bothered by the whole blood rain episode. Aside from the horror of it, something about that horrible storm just doesn't add up.

"Why'd they do it?" I mutter softly, as much to myself as to Husker.

"Huh?" In the moonlight I see Husker glance sharply at me. "Why'd who do what?"

"The Gamemakers. Why dump that blood on us? Why now?"

"I don't follow you," Husker admits.

"You've watched the Games before. Anytime the Gamemakers have done something like this before, they had a reason."

"Okay," Husker says slowly, "like what?"

I shake my head in frustration, causing a fresh ripple of pain to emanate from the base of my skull.  _Damn you, Husker!_  "Gamemakers usually do something like this to drive Tributes together," I explain patiently.

"Yeah," Husker says thoughtfully, "you're right. They do."

"So?" I ask, waving my machete in a broad arc. "Where the hell are they? If the idea was to dump blood on us and force us to the beach, why weren't the Careers there waiting to cut us down?"

"Peeta, we haven't even been here a day yet," Husker points out. "It's too early to force Tributes together."

"Exactly. It's  _too_  early. So why the blood?"

Husker shrugs. "To fuck with us?"

"I don't think so," I say slowly. "The Gamemakers never do anything without a reason." I glance to my left at a nearby patch of jungle and beckon to Husker. "Come on. Let's check this out."

Husker follows me to the tree line. Together, we stop and listen intently. We hear nothing. I turn to my ally and grin. "Looks like we found a dry patch," I say, and turn to enter the jungle.

I take one step when a hand on my shoulder jerks me back.

"Husker! What the fuck?" I glare at my ally. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I don't think going in there is a good idea," Husker says quietly, pointing into the thick jungle.

I follow his finger. It takes me a few seconds to see what he's seeing. A thick white mist is swirling around the trees, weaving in and out of the branches as it slowly approaches the tree line.

" _That's_  why you stopped me?" I ask incredulously. "Because of  _fog_?"

"That ain't fog, Peeta," Husker says in a low voice. "I ain't ever seen fog act like that." Husker, his hand still clamped on my shoulder, begins to back away. Angrily I wrench away from him.

"Of course it's fog, dumbass!" Husker takes a couple more steps back. "What else would it be?"

"You tell me," Husker replies quietly. "But that ain't fog. Just like that shit that fell on us earlier weren't rain."

"Fuck," I mutter in disgust. "Look, we need water. Which means we need to cut some vines."

"I know," is all Husker says.

I turn back to the advancing fog. It's like a milky white wall now, barely two meters in front of me, with slender tendrils undulating out from the main wall. I look back at Husker.

"Look," I say, "I'll prove it to you." And, with that, I reach my left hand out to swipe it through the nearest white tendril -

\- and in the next second I'm screaming in pain as a white hot burning envelopes my hand. I have to do a double take to make sure that my hand is literally  _not_ on fire. I collapse to the ground, cradling my left hand in my right, even as a pair of strong hands grabs the back of my cover-all and drags me bodily out of the tree line.

"Oh,  _fuck_!" I moan, as Husker drags me away from the burning fog and toward the water's edge. "I'm  _on fire_!"

"Shut up!" Husker hisses urgently. "Or we  _will_  have every fuckin' Career out here on top of us!"

I grit my teeth against the pain. Somehow, miraculously, I've managed to hang on to the machete. Husker gets me to the water's edge and almost bodily tosses me in. I bite back another scream as the salt water hits my hand, re-igniting it once more...and then I sigh in relief as the pain literally flows out of my hand and into the water.

I look up at Husker, who's watching me intently, and then I look past him at the tree line, noticing that the strange burning fog has stopped as if it hit an invisible wall. Shifting around, I manage to sit up, while keeping my hand under water.

"Hey," I say softly. "I owe you. You were right."

"Forget it," he says gruffly, squatting by me in the shallow water.

"How did you know?" I ask, experimentally flexing my fingers and noting with relief that everything still seems to work.

Husker shrugs. "I didn't. Not for sure, anyway. It just didn't... _feel_  right, you know?" He glances back at the fog, and says suddenly, "Just like Sadie."

"Huh? Who the hell is 'Sadie?'"

Husker grins at me. "My little sister. A few years ago, when she was about six, she touched the stove burner, even though it was red-hot and I told her not to. Burned the fuck outta her fingers. That shit with the fog reminded me of her just then." Husker falls silent for a moment before continuing. "I wish I could see her just one last time." Husker shakes his head vigorously and stands up.

"Come on," he says abruptly. "Looks like that fog is disappearing. Let's go get some vines...Sadie."

He chuckles as he helps me up, and chuckles again when he hears me mutter, "Fuck you."

We quickly cut an armful of vines to take back to Gamma and Evie. My hand still burns, but it's usable...even though I can tell that blisters are already starting to form. And, as we make our way back, I'm consumed by the strangeness and apparent randomness of this arena.

A violent lightning storm. Blood rain. A burning fog that would have easily killed me if I had been unlucky enough to get caught in it. Three deadly, Gamemaker created traps.

And I haven't heard a single cannon all night long.

It makes no sense to me. Why go to the trouble if Tributes aren't being forced together...or killed outright?

And, as Husker and I walk along the beach, careful not to spill any of our precious water, I'm increasingly frustrated.

I like things to make sense...and this hellhole of an arena makes absolutely  _no_  sense.

**PART II**

_"Wake up, Sweetheart."_

_Haymitch gently shakes Katniss's shoulder, causing the girl to jerk violently and sit bolt upright, gasping for air as she opens her mouth to scream._

_Haymitch quickly clamps his hand over her mouth. "Hey. Hey, now," he says, almost soothingly. "It's just me. Easy, now."_

_Haymitch's murmuring has the desired effect. Slowly, Katniss relaxes her tense body, finally pulling Haymitch's hand from her mouth._

_"No offense, Haymitch," Katniss observes wryly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, "but when was the last time you washed your hands?"_

_Haymitch shrugs. "I've got no friggin' idea. What day is it, anyway?"_

_Katniss shakes her head in disgust. "You're impossible."_

_"And I'm also tired," Haymitch points out. "It's three A.M. Your watch."_

_Katniss groans and swings her legs over the side of the cot. As she shoves her feet into a pair of slippers, she asks, "I don't suppose I have enough time to shower and change clothes?"_

_"No. Do that shit on your own time. You're on our Tributes time, now."_

_"Wonderful," Katniss mutters, running her tongue over her teeth and shuddering. "So, what'd I miss? Anything?"_

_"Not too much," Haymitch says casually as they step from the sleeping chamber and make their way to the craft table, heavily laden with all sorts of quick foods. "Our Tributes almost drowned in a blood cloudburst, and your boyfriend burned the shit outta his hand when, like a total dumb shit, he touched some poison fog."_

_Katniss drops her half-laden plate as she spins to face Haymitch. "What?" she nearly shrieks. Suddenly aware of several pairs of eyes on her, she changes her demeanor in an instant. "I mean," she says in a much calmer voice, picking up a new plate and deftly stepping out of the way of an Avox busily cleaning up her dropped plate, "Why didn't you wake me? And, for your information, he is_ not _my_ boyfriend _!"_

_Haymitch grins and says, "Whatever you say, Sweetheart," and, while she fills a new plate, quickly briefs Katniss on everything that's occurred in the last four hours or so._

_"You should have gotten me up," Katniss grumbles as they walk back to the Trench._

_Haymitch shrugs. "No need to. Nothing you could have done, anyway. Plenty of time for sleep deprivation later."_

_Haymitch waits until Katniss gets settled in their station before he points out Tribute locations. "Peeta and Gamma are over here, with the Nines," he says, pointing at an area of beach. "The Careers are all over here." Haymitch traces an area directly opposite the salt lake from where Peeta, Gamma, and the Nines are._

_Katniss silently breathes a sigh of relief. The two groups were about as far apart as they could possibly get. She points to the Cornucopia, where a single blip, indicating a Tribute, is flashing intermittently._

_"Who's that?"_

_Haymitch peers at the screen. "The girl from Eight," he finally replies, and then raises his voice. "Cecilia! What's your girl doin' pokin' around the Cornucopia?"_

_The Mentor from District Eight raises her head, and Katniss can see exhaustion etching the older woman's pretty face. "Right now, sleeping...which is what I wish I was doing."_

_"You need sleep, girl," Haymitch says kindly. "Go roust Woof and tell him you need a break."_

_Cecilia smiles ruefully. "Woof. Sorry, Haymitch. The old man's worse than useless in the Trench. And I promise I'll lay down for a bit...just as soon as this first Feast is over."_

_Haymitch shakes his head sadly. "Poor girl. She's got three kids at home. Gets tougher on her every year. Hell, for that matter, it gets tougher on all of us every year." He pauses for a moment. "Ballsy move on her Tribute's part, though...Cornucopia's been pretty well picked over, so she's not likely to have unwanted company out there tonight."_

_"What about these two?" Katniss asks, pointing at a pair of blips nearest where the Feast would be taking place._

_Haymitch peers at the screen. "The Elevens," he says. "Looks like they're keeping an eye on the Feast location. I'm thinking they're working alone, though. They're too far apart for one to help out the other if there's trouble."_

_"You're right," a deep voice rumbles from behind them. Haymitch and Katniss turn and see a large, dark-skinned man standing at the entrance to their station._

_"Chaff," Haymitch says, nodding in the direction of the man. "Have you had the pleasure of meeting my fellow District Twelve Mentor? Katniss...Chaff. Chaff...Katniss."_

_"Only once," Chaff replies, extending his right hand to Katniss. "Last night, before the Interviews." He squeezes Katniss's hand gently, giving her a kind smile. "How are you holding up so far?"_

_Katniss shrugs. "Okay. So far." Chaff was not what she expected. She had expected the boisterous, laughing man that she had seen so many times during Mandatory Viewing...usually passing a bottle back and forth with Haymitch. This man was much more subdued...and his attitude towards her seemed almost paternal._

_Chaff pats her shoulder. "Trust me," he says resignedly, "it gets worse." Turning to Haymitch, he continues, "And no, our Tributes decided that they were better off soloing rather than teaming up." He shakes his head in disgust. "Dumb fuckin' kids," he mutters under his breath._

_"Well," Haymitch says, standing up. "On that happy note, I'm gonna catch a couple hours before the Feast." He turns to Katniss. "Sweetheart, don't bother waking me. I already let the Avox know to get me up. I don't want you leaving the station for anything." He turns back to Chaff. "Seeder sleeping?"_

_Chaff nods. "Yeah. For a couple more hours. Avox supposed to wake her about the same time as you."_

_"Good," Haymitch says. "She ain't gettin' any younger. And neither am I. G'night, all."_

_Katniss and Chaff watch Haymitch disappear in the direction of the sleeping rooms, and then Chaff turns back to Katniss._

_"I need to get back and keep an eye on my kids," he explains. "But I'll be right next door if you need help."_

_"Thanks," Katniss replies quietly, then adds, "Can I ask you something?"_

_"Shoot," Chaff replies._

_Katniss hesitates for a moment. "Does this...does it...ever get any easier?"_

_"You mean Mentoring?"_

_"Yeah. Mentoring. All...this." She gestures at the Trench. "Haymitch...he doesn't talk much about it."_

_Chaff gives Katniss a sad look. "Why do you think Haymitch and I drink as much as we do?" He pats her arm and adds, "Don't worry about it. You'll do fine, little girl."_

_Katniss watches Chaff step back to his own station, then turns back to the monitors, picks her plate up, and begins to eat mechanically as she watches Peeta and Husker deliver the "jungle canteens" to Gamma and Evie._

_She watches as Peeta drains two vine sections into his mouth. Then, almost unconsciously, she reaches out and touches his image on the monitor._

_"Why did you have to kiss me?" she whispers. "Damn you, Peeta Mellark."_

**PART III**

The table sits on the pristine white beach. Atop the table sit four packs of varying sizes, each one neatly marked with a number: 1, 2, 4, and finally, 12.

"Nothing for us?" Husker hisses quietly. I quickly glance at my ally...and friend, I now realize...and see him working his jaw in anger.

"These are Sponsor Gifts, remember," I whisper in reply. "Maybe your Mentors don't have enough donations."

"Yeah, and maybe Cyrus is just being a cheap prick," Husker whispers back. I feel bad for my ally. I turn back and continue to watch the table. It's not lost on me that there aren't any packs labeled 8 or 11, either.

The sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon. What do we do next? I'm sure that every other living Tribute is doing the same thing that we are doing...lying concealed in the tree line, trying to figure out just how to rush in, grab our pack, and rush out again. It sounds so simple and I've worked it out in my mind a dozen times.

The only problem is, every time I work it out in my head, it ends the same way...with someone getting an arrow in their back or skewered by a spear for their troubles.

"Why don't one o' the Careers make a move?" Gamma asks.

"Same reason we don't," I explain. "They don't know where we are, or if we have ranged weapons, or anything. They're probably -"

"Holy shit!" Husker exclaims. I'd been so busy talking I almost missed it myself.

A lone Tribute explodes upwards from the salt lake, bursting up from the gentle surf and running full speed toward the table. I watch, open mouthed, as the Tribute grabs a pack at random, never slowing down, and heads straight for the jungle. It's then that I realize that the Tribute...a girl, I can now see...will pass just meters from where we are hiding.

I hear shouts coming from a little ways down the beach, followed by a hissing sound, and I watch as a silvery arrow barely misses the running Tribute. Husker begins to rise up, his sickle clutched in his hand, before I grab his arm and force him back down.

"No!" I whisper urgently. "Let her go!"

Husker can only glare at me as the girl crashes by us and is almost instantly swallowed up by the thick jungle. "Are you crazy? It would have been nothing to bring her down!"

"And call attention to us at the same time!" I snap. Even with me forcing Husker down, the Careers may yet find us. I can hear the Pack approaching, and I can hear them crashing through the jungle off to our left, doggedly pursuing the girl.

I grip the slingshot tightly, expecting at any second to actually have to use it, when a pair of Tributes, each concealed to both our left and right, burst from the tree line within seconds of each other, running full tilt toward the table.

More shouts. The pair of Tributes...a boy and a girl, I see now...reach the table seconds apart. But this time the Careers are alerted.

The Tribute boy cuts across directly to our front, running full speed toward the jungle, when a spear flashes out and strikes home. It wasn't a clean strike, though, and, as the boy cries out and tumbles to the sand, the spear instantly dislodges. The boy staggers to his feet and, somehow, manages to keep going.

The Tribute girl, clutching the third pack, is the target of another thrown spear...this one missing her by a hands breadth.  _No arrows,_  I say to myself,  _just spears. Aurora must be chasing the first girl in the jungle._  I watch as a pair of Careers...Ishmael Brennan from Four and Silver Collinwood from One...appear in pursuit of the pair of Tributes. I can see that Silver is brandishing a short sword while Ishmael is carrying a pair of short-handled axes.

_Not ranged weapons. I doubt if Ishmael, from District Four, has any skill at throwing an ax. The Careers are split. We'll never have a better chance._

I'm gathering my legs beneath me to make a dash for the table when a flash of motion off my right tells me that someone's beaten me to it.

Evie.

For a split second, I freeze...stunned at this little fourteen-year-old, terrified of  _everything_ , miserable girl...that Evie Applewhite, Tribute from District Nine, is actually making a run at the Feast table.

I hear Gamma and Husker shout something. I have no idea what they said. Probably telling Evie to come back...but, of course, she won't come back...not empty-handed, she won't. And, for a moment, I think that Evie will pull it off...that she'll make it to the table, grab the last pack, which just happens to be the smallest one...and manage to make it back to us unnoticed.

That's not what happened.

Evie is only a few steps from the Feast table when a new explosion of movement to my left catches my eye. By this time I'm on my feet, along with Gamma and Husker...but none of us has made a move toward the table. None of us are in any position to help Evie with this new threat.

The newest threat is Lupa Stonehenge.

She's charging full speed towards Evie. I can see sunlight glinting off what appears to be her forearms, and realize that she has a long-bladed fighting knife in each hand, the blades of each knife folded back up against her arms in a technique that I immediately recognize...for it was the exact same fighting technique that Goat Man had so laboriously taught me.

I take several steps out onto the sand before I realize that, no matter how fast I run, that there would be no way I would be able to reach Evie before Lupa has sliced her to ribbons.

That doesn't stop Gamma.

Husker takes a couple of steps after Gamma but stops almost as soon as he starts. He knows that his lumbering gait is no match for Gamma's sprint. I clutch the wrist rocket firmly in my left hand. As I bring the slingshot up I'm keenly aware of two things.

I'll only get one chance for a good shot...and I'm not all that good of a shot to begin with.

The three girls on the beach all seem to be moving as though time itself has slowed down. Evie had reached the Feast Table and was heading back with her prize. Even at this distance I can see her eyes widen as she catches sight of Lupa bearing down on her. Gamma has covered half the distance already but Lupa is only a few steps from Evie. It's now or never.

I sight the wrist rocket, draw the nylon sling back...and shoot.

It's not a good shot. I was aiming for Luca's back. That's not where I hit.

I have the satisfaction of hearing Lupa's cry of pain and I see her stumble, grabbing her upper thigh as she fights to keep her balance. And, as Gamma passes Lupa, Gamma cuts at the District Two girl viciously with the machete...a move that Lupa's able to parry easily, but one that also causes her to lose her balance completely and cause her to crash heavily to the sand.

 _Lupa's down! She may not be_ out _, but she's_ down _!_

Gamma reaches Evie and practically drags the younger girl back towards Husker and I. Lupa, a string of obscenities pouring from her mouth, is already climbing to her feet. I quickly load the slingshot again, aim, and fire.

It's another bad shot, but, like the first shot, it's also effective, hitting the beach a meter in front of Lupa and causing a fan of fine, white sand to spray into her face, blinding her.

She never saw Gamma's next attack.

Lupa was on her knees, her hands pawing at her eyes, when Gamma and Evie run past her. She can't see them, but she can hear them, and she turns toward the sound of running feet, throwing her arms up and away from her body in defense.

Gamma is not skilled in fighting, and knows nothing of blade technique. As she and Evie run past Lupa, all Gamma does is hack clumsily at the Career girl, just as she did before...but this time, the machete blade finds flesh rather than steel.

For a split second, the blade sticks in Lupa's forearm, before Gamma wrenches it free. Lupa screams in agony as bright red blood spurts rhythmically from the gaping wound. The girl falls backwards, clutching her hand over the wound, trying in vain to staunch the blood pulsing over the front of her body and flowing down over the beach, staining the white sand red.

By pure, dumb luck, Gamma's managed to cut an artery. Lupa will be dead in minutes.

Gamma and Evie reach Husker and I seconds later. The girls don't break stride, running full tilt into the jungle. Husker and I follow close behind. We continue to run, struggling now against the slight up hill slope, until the sharp report of a cannon brings us to a sudden stop.

We're gasping and coughing, bent over, trying to catch our breath. We can no longer see the salt lake or the beach...but we can hear the faint sound of a hovercraft passing overhead. We glance up just in time to see the hovercraft glide almost noiselessly over the jungle, heading in the direction of the beach.

Gamma looks from the hovercraft to me. I nod solemnly. "It's for Lupa. You cut her good. I'm sure she bled out."

It hits me then. Gamma killed a Career...and not just any Career, but one that had seemed to target her from the very first day in the Training Center. I can't help but wonder how she feels about it.

Gamma stares at me for a moment, her face impassive, before turning back, facing the beach, and slowly, deliberately, extending both middle fingers. She raises her fingers up toward the hovercraft as it, once again, passes over our heads, now bearing the body of the dead Career.

As it disappears from sight, Gamma mutters, "Cut these off  _now_ , you bitch!"

I think I have my answer.

* * *

"Let's see what we got," I say, extending my hand to Evie.

"You aren't mad?" Evie asks in a small voice as she hands the small pack to me.

"No," I say with a smile. "You just...surprised us, that's all."

"Don't worry, kid," Gamma says with a smile, "trust me, you did good."

Evie seems to breathe a sigh of relief as I fumble with the closure straps, opening the small pack. Just before I dump the contents onto the ground, I notice something printed on the reverse of the pack. A small "9."

I dump the pack out onto the spongy ground, and as I bend down to pick up our hard-fought Sponsor Gifts, the sharp report of another cannon causes us all to jump a little.

"I wonder who that one was for," I muse softly.

"The boy," Husker replies. "The boy on the beach. The one that took the spear wound."

"Yeah," Gamma agrees. "Must have been him."

"We're down to ten now," Evie points out in a small voice. I shoot her a glance, amazed that she's even aware of how many Tributes have fallen...and how many still remain.

Ten. Fourteen dead already, and the Games aren't even twenty-four hours old. This just may go down as the quickest Games in history.

"Alright," I sigh, "let's see what we've got."

Three small objects lay on the jungle floor...a small knife, a small, cylindrical metal container...and a small, metal tube, tapered on one end.

I pick up each object. The numbers "9" and "12" are embossed on the metal container. I turn and toss it to Husker.

"I think this is for us," I explain. "As in you and I. Looks like they combined Sponsor Gifts into a single pack." I pause for a moment. "You first. That cut on your head looks like it's starting to infect."

Husker opens the container and reads the directions printed on the inside of the lid. "It's for our head wounds!" He looks up toward the sky. "Cyrus, I'm sorry I called you a cheap prick!" He reaches into the container, coating his finger in a thick, pinkish balm, when Evie steps forward.

"No," she says gently. "Let me do that." Husker clumsily wipes the medication on his forehead and allows Evie to smooth it into the wound. She applies the medicine several more times, liberally covering the oozing cut.

"Hey, kid," Gamma calls out softly. "Save some for the Townie, here...okay?"

"Okay," Evie replies softly, looking down into the container. "There's still a lot left."

Evie hands the container to Gamma, who kneels behind me as I examine the other two objects. I wince a little as Gamma begins to spread the medication over the lumps on the back of my head, and then relax as the medicine begins to go to work.

"Thanks," I murmur to Gamma.

In response, Gamma hands me the container. "Put some of this on you hand. See if it helps."

My left hand was still red where the fog had touched it, and the blisters that had formed had burst when I immersed my hand in the salt water, and had been replaced by nasty looking sores that were only now beginning to scab over. I spread the medication over my hand and sigh in relief as it immediately eases the dull, throbbing pain.

I go back to examining the other two objects from the pack. The knife would always be useful...but what the hell was this metal tube?

I hold it up. "Anyone know what this thing is?"

I'm answered by shrugs and blank stares. "Great," I mutter as I slip the knife and the tube back into the small pack. I hand the pack back to Evie.

"Evie, as you were the one brave enough to go get this...would you like to be the one to carry it for us?"

Evie smiles shyly at me. "Really?"

"Really," I reply, as she takes the pack. "Now each of us has something."

Evie opens her mouth as if to say something, but whatever she was about to say was lost as an unearthly, almost inhuman scream pierces the quiet of the jungle. The scream was followed by a horrible roar and snarling, as if from some huge animal. The screaming and snarling continued for a few seconds more, and then abruptly cease...and is immediately followed by the sound of a cannon firing for the third time this morning.

Silently I look at my three companions, and I know that my face mirrors the horrified looks on their faces. "What the fuck was  _that_?" Gamma asks.

"I don't even want to know," Husker says shakily. "But it came from that direction." He points off to one side, to an area roughly halfway between the beach and us.

"That's where that girl ran off to," I murmur. "The one that was hiding in the surf this morning. I wonder what she ran in to?"

"Maybe...maybe those Careers caught up to her," Gamma says...but I can tell that she doesn't believe that for a minute.

I laugh humorlessly. "Sure, and Careers growl and snarl like...whatever it was that we heard."

"Look," Evie says, pointing to the sky. We watch as a hovercraft passes overhead, heading towards whatever had just happened. But, this time, instead of disappearing in the distance, we watch as it goes into a hover over a patch of jungle just a few hundred meters from where we stand.

"Shit," Husker nearly whispers, "that's  _too_ close!

We all watch in a kind of fascinated horror as a claw descends from the belly of the hovercraft to pick up the body of the unlucky Tribute. We watch as the claw makes the trip five times.

"We only heard one cannon," Gamma says, "unless -"

"Unless it was busy picking up the pieces," I finish. I look at the rest of my Alliance.

"Come on. Let's get the fuck outta here."

Quickly, we begin to head back toward the beach, stopping just long enough to cut a few vines for the trickle of water that they provide. After we drink, Evie looks at me solemnly and says one word.

"Nine."

I shudder as a cold chill runs up my back.

**PART IV**

_Enobaria stands up, her face a carefully crafted impassive mask, as the assembled Mentors watch the claw as it descends from the belly of the hovercraft toward the crumpled, bloody body of Lupa Stonehenge._

_"Excuse me," she says in her clipped, District Two accent. "I need to make a telephone call." She shoots a final glare in the direction of the District Twelve Station as she walks off to what Haymitch refers to as the "Bad News Room," to make the call back to District Two...and let the Stonehenge family know that Lupa's odds were not in her favor._

_"Take your time," Brutus, her co-Mentor from District Two, says gently, adding his own glare to Enobaria's, which Haymitch and Katniss steadfastly ignore._

_"She didn't even last a full day," Katniss says quietly._

_"This is a different arena," Haymitch points out. "And a different Games."_

_"Indeed it is," a quiet voice says from behind them. Haymitch and Katniss spin in their chairs to see a slightly built, bespectacled man, accompanied by a plain faced, nervous looking woman, standing at the entrance to their station._

_Haymitch rises from his chair. After a moment, Katniss does the same. Haymitch extends his hand to the man first, clasping his hand warmly, and then to the woman, shaking her hand somewhat less firmly._

_"Beetee." Haymitch says with a smile, "Wiress. Didn't think I'd see either of you back in the Trench after yesterday."_

_"We may have lost our Tributes," the man Haymitch addressed as Beetee replies, "but not our good manners." Beetee turns toward Katniss. "My apologies for not coming around sooner, Miss Everdeen."_

_As Beetee extends his hand to Katniss, Wiress adds, "And we don't often get a chance to see a new...a new -"_

_"- face, here in the Trench," Beetee finishes with a smile as he releases Katniss's hand. "We met very briefly, Miss Everdeen, before the Interviews, but it seemed as though your mind was...occupied...at the time. So we thought...Wiress and I, that is...that we'd pop in this morning to say hello."_

_Katniss, of course, knew that Beetee and Wiress were Mentors for District Three. And she was strangely touched that they would make a special trip back to the Trench just to say hello and re-introduced themselves to her. She only had a vague recollection of meeting them before the Interviews._

_"Thank you," Katniss murmurs softly as she shakes Wiress's hand. "It's very nice to meet you both."_

_"Beetee and I won't keep you," Wiress says as she stares past Katniss, releasing the younger girl's hand at the same time. "We know that you are both very...very -"_

_"- busy," Beetee finishes quickly. Katniss glances back at Haymitch with a questioning look on her face. That was the second time that Beetee had to finish a sentence for Wiress._

_In response, Haymitch shrugs and mouthes the word "later." Katniss nods, and then turns back to Wiress and Beetee. Wiress is continuing to stare at something in the District Twelve Station. Katniss follows her gaze and notices that Wiress is staring at the schematic of the arena, and sees her mouth moving noiselessly, as if she's talking silently to herself._

_In spite of herself, Katniss jumps slightly as another cannon fires. Alarmed, she spins toward Haymitch. "Haymitch, who was that -"_

_"Relax, Sweetheart," Haymitch says quietly as he nods toward the District Eleven Station, where Chaff is climbing wearily to his feet, his mouth set in a grim line._

_"I'll be back in a bit," he says as he brushes past the District Twelve Station._

_Beetee gently takes Katniss by the arm and points to a display on one of the monitor screens. "Mentors receive a message alerting them to the death of their Tribute before the cannons fire," he explains. "Once the telemetry in the Tributes' Tracker flat-lines, the Gamemakers notify the Mentor immediately." He pauses for a moment. "It takes some getting used to," he admits._

_Katniss nods as Beetee speaks._ I'm not a very good Mentor, _she says to herself._  I was scared to death to be left alone earlier. I don't see how Haymitch managed alone for all those years. I'm not doing Gamma...or Peeta...any good by being here.

_"What's that, Wiress?" Katniss hears Beetee say. She glances first at Beetee, then at Haymitch, who shrugs his shoulders, and finally at Wiress, who is continuing to talk to herself as she stares at the arena schematic...only now, Katniss can make out what Wiress is saying. And it doesn't make any sense._

_"Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock."_

_Beetee frowns slightly, and then turns to Haymitch. "You were saying earlier that this arena was different. How so, Haymitch?"_

_"Well," Haymitch replies slowly, "It didn't seem so at first. Not until last night."_

_"That's not entirely true," Katniss interjects. Haymitch and Beetee both look at her questioningly. "We've seen no birds, or animals, or even insects."_

_"That's a good point," Haymitch admits._

_"Dammit," Beetee mutters. "I wish I had been in here last night, but Wiress and I had to see to the...I mean, our Tributes were returned yesterday afternoon. We had to...take care of them before we could...you know. And then last night we were both too drained to do anything other than go to bed." Beetee pauses and looks back to Haymitch. "I'm sorry...please continue."_

_Haymitch pats the smaller man on the shoulder in a gesture of mingled affection and respect. "Anyway, nothing happened until midnight. Then a tree was struck by lightning, and there was a lightning storm up here." Haymitch points to an area on the arena diagram._

_"Just there?" Beetee asks. "Nowhere else?"_

_"Yeah," Haymitch replies. "Then, as soon as it stopped, our Tributes were hit with blood rain."_

_"Blood rain?" Beetee asks. "As in -"_

_"As in blood. Or what looks, feels, and smells like blood. I didn't think that they would be able to make it out. It was incredibly intense."_

_"But they did," Beetee prompts._

_"Yeah. They made it to the beach. The rain stopped at the beach."_

_"And where were your Tributes when the blood rain started?" Beetee is examining the arena schematic carefully._

_"Here," Haymitch taps the monitor screen. "Along with the District Nine Tributes."_

_"Hmmmm." Beetee studies the schematic carefully. "And did anything else happen after the blood rain?"_

_"Yes," Haymitch replies. "There was a weird fog. My Tribute was stupid enough...sorry, Sweetheart, but you know that was a dumb shit thing for him to do...anyway, he was stupid enough to touch it. It appears to be strongly acidic. It burned the shit outta his hand. Only the water in the salt lake was able to soothe the burn."_

_"And where did he encounter this fog?"_

_Haymitch points to the schematic. "Right about in here."_

_Beetee nods slowly, as a tight smile appears on his face. "Any other...anomalies?"_

_Haymitch shakes his head. "Nothing that I've -"_

_A series of horrible, almost inhuman sounding screams, punctuated by roars and snarls as if from sort of large animal, explodes from the speakers. Haymitch, Katniss and Beetee watch as the Non-Career Alliance stares off in the direction of the awful sounds. This time, when the cannon sounds, Katniss doesn't flinch._

_Celestia, the Escort for District Eight, stands up. "Excuse me," she announces, "but I must go and awaken Cecilia. She...she has a telephone call to make."_

_Haymitch and Katniss watch Celestia quickly walk out of the Trench before turning back to Beetee and Wiress. Wiress was still muttering to herself as she continues to stare at the arena schematic, but now her soft murmurs have changed. Instead of the repetitious "tick-tock, tick-tock" that she had been repeating over and over, now she seemed to be reciting a rhyme._

_Katniss leans forward to better hear what Wiress was saying, and, as before, it made no sense to her at all._

_"Hickory-dickory-dock. The mouse ran up the clock. The clock struck one, the mouse ran down. Hickory-dickory-dock."_

_"I think that would count as an 'anomaly,' don't you, Haymitch?" Beetee asks wryly._

_Haymitch can only nod and mutter a single word. "Yeah."_

_"Can you show me roughly where the Tribute from District Eight was located at the time that she encountered...whatever it was that she encountered?"_

_Haymitch points to the schematic. "In here...roughly."_

_"Hmmmm," Beetee examines the schematic carefully, and then looks at the digital clock prominently mounted on the wall that displayed "Arena Time." Beetee looks from the clock back to the schematic. "What time was the attack on the Tribute from Eight?"_

_"Shortly after seven. Why?"_

_"Maybe nothing," Beetee replies slowly. "And maybe everything. I have a theory, but I won't be able to test it out for a few hours. We'll be back later. Come along, Wiress."_

_Haymitch and Katniss say their goodbyes and watch as the Mentors from District Three leave the Trench. As soon as they were out of sight, Katniss turns to Haymitch._

_"What's wrong with her?" Katniss asks bluntly._

_Haymitch sighs and shakes his head. "She...she's a genius. Smarter than Beetee in a lot of ways. But her brain...it's not wired like our brains. She...well, she sees things differently than we do, and she processes information differently, too."_

_"Did you hear what she kept saying?" Katniss asks._

_Haymitch nods. "Sweetheart, she's_ seeing _something about this arena that we can't see...or that we haven't seen yet. And she wants to tell us but she doesn't know how. And," he adds, "Beetee's figured something out...but he won't say until he's absolutely sure."_

_Katniss turns back to the monitor and watches the group make their way back toward the beach. She can see Evie clutching the small pack containing the spile, and she knows that the significance of the small metal tube had been lost on all four Tributes._

_"They didn't understand," Katniss says miserably, pointing toward Evie and the pack._

_"Don't beat yourself up, Sweetheart," Haymitch says reasonably. "To be honest, it woulda been a miracle if any of those kids had even seen a spile before. Not your fault."_

_In her heart, Katniss knows this. But she can't shake off the feeling that she's somehow failed._

**PART V**

"Where do you think they went?" Gamma whispers to me.

I shrug. "Good question," I whisper back. We're hiding just inside the tree line, very near our original hiding places from earlier that morning. We can even see the churned-up patch of blood sand where Lupa Stonehenge had bled out. This whole area makes me feel uneasy...but I don't want to move until we are reasonably sure that we won't run into the Career Pack.

"Well, we can't stay here all fuckin' day!" Husker hisses. I agree. We're thirsty; bordering on dehydration, and hungry...my meager store of food depleted still more after an unsatisfying breakfast of dried meat, dried fruit, and crackers. I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose with my thumb and finger. Somehow I've become the leader of the Non-Career Alliance, and I'm finding out that I really don't enjoy being in charge.

A hand frantically tapping my shoulder jerks me out of my reverie. Evie is pointing out toward the Cornucopia. "Look!"

I shade my eyes. Yes! It's unmistakable now. Two...no, at least three people out on Cornucopia Island...and that means that they're probably all there. With Lupa dead, they wouldn't leave one of their Alliance alone. If we're going to move, now is the time!

"They're out there," I say firmly. "Let's move."

"What the fuck are they doin' out there?" Gamma asks, as we gather up our meager possessions and prepare to move.

I shrug. "Who knows? Looking for more weapons, maybe...or some food or water...I don't know. All I know is,  _we_  know where they are."

Husker and Gamma quickly cut a few vines, giving each of us a couple swallows of water each. Husker turns to me after we drink. "Which way?"

I point off to our left. "That way. I don't want to run the risk of hitting that fog or blood rain...or whatever's in  _there_." I jerk my thumb toward the patch of jungle where the District Eight girl had died.

"What makes you think there won't be any fog or blood rain anywhere else?" Husker asks.

"A hunch," I reply. Truthfully, I wasn't sure. But I knew where we had encountered both horrors before...and it was behind us. I didn't want to risk those areas again.

Husker seems to accept this as he nods slowly. I look around at my allies...at my  _friends_...and motion them to follow me.

"Come on. Let's stick to the tree line."

* * *

We had been moving cautiously for well over an hour when it hit.

We heard it first...a strange, rumbling sound that seemed to combine with the sound of rushing water. A strange wind suddenly picks up, cooling the sweat on our faces. I hold up my hand, signaling the rest of my Alliance to stop, but it was a useless gesture. They were already rooted in place...unsure of this strange, new sound.

"Oh, shit!" Gamma shouts, pointing up at the trees a couple hundred meters to our front. I follow her pointing hand and see what looks to be  _water_ , boiling up over the treetops and rushing down toward the beach.

As we watch, a solitary figure bursts from the jungle ahead of the onrushing flood. The figure is too far away to identify, but I can tell that it's a girl...and I know that, somehow, has to be the girl from District Eleven.

We watch in horror as the wall of water bursts from the tree line and immediately the solitary figure on the beach disappears into the swirling mass. We can see...and hear...trees bending and cracking under the weight of the huge wave as it sweeps from the jungle and empties into the salt lake...heading straight for us.

We don't have time to do anything but stand, mesmerized by this massive mountain of water as we wait to be simultaneously crushed and drowned...but, with the wave a scant hundred meters from us, we watch as it hits an invisible barrier, seems to rise up against a transparent wall, and then crashes back down into the salt lake below.

All that hits us is a surge of water barely knee height that rushes over the beach, impacts our legs, and then recedes almost instantly. My feeling of relief doesn't last long, however, as a cannon blast signals the death of yet another Tribute...the second that we know of to be killed, not by another Tribute, but by this deadly arena itself.

I turn back to my friends. "Everyone okay?"

Gammas laugh tinges on hysteria. "Depends on your definition of 'fine,' Townie!"

"What the fuck was that?" Husker asks in a near whisper.

"A wave," I say unnecessarily.

"Really! A wave! No fucking shit!" Gamma nearly shouts. "I thought I was gonna fuckin'  _die_  where I stand just now! Bad enough we're expected to kill each other, but the fuckin'  _arena's_  tryin' to kill us, too? Well, fuck that!" She looks up at the unnatural, salmon colored sky. "Fuck that, and fuck you all, too!"

I step forward tentatively. "Gamma," I say gently, reaching out to her. "Hey -"

Gamma jerks away from me. "Don't  _touch_  me!" she screams. "Fuckin' crazy-ass Townie! You  _asked_ for this shit, not me!" I watch, feeling helpless, as Gamma stalks off toward the tree line, then stops suddenly and buries her face in her hands.

And begins to cry.

I didn't know what to do. I had seen Gamma angry, sarcastic, resigned, furious, disgusted, and even gentle...when she dealt with Evie, anyway. This was a new side to her...and I had no idea what to do.

But I had to do something. We can't just stand here all day. The Careers are bound to leave Cornucopia Island eventually, so we have to make sure they have no idea where we are. I take a tentative step forward...only to feel firm hands grab my arm.

Evie.

"Don't," she says softly. "Let me." Evie lets go of my arm and walks to Gamma, says something to her, and I watch in amazement as Gamma wraps her arms around Evie as the younger girl holds her for a few minutes, until Gamma once again seems to have control of herself.

I squat on the beach, idly drawing in the sand with a stick, when Gamma approaches me.

I look up at her as I stand up slowly. "Okay?" I ask.

Gamma nods. "Okay." A sound overhead causes us to both look up. A hovercraft materializes over the lake. We watch as a claw descends, latches onto a limp form bobbing gently in the water, and then ascends back into the hovercraft. As soon as the body is aboard, the hovercraft pivots in mid-air and flies off rapidly, disappearing from sight in seconds.

Husker and Evie join Gamma and I. Evie says a single word. "Eight."

Sixteen are dead. Eight are left. It suddenly hits me exactly what that means.

The Final Eight.

**PART VI**

_Cressida gets the call while the report of the District Eight girls cannon is still echoing through the arena._

_To be honest, she's glad that she's being diverted from her "trail Katniss Everdeen and record everything she does" assignment. Katniss hadn't exactly kept a schedule since arriving in the Capitol and, on those rare moments when Cressida was able to actually record the activities of the newest Mentor, Katniss hadn't been exactly, well, cooperative._

_Not that Katniss was actively avoiding Cressida. In fact, Katniss actually liked the young, up and coming Resident Director, in spite of their huge differences in upbringing and lifestyle. No, the issue was that, since arriving in the Capitol, Katniss had found that a great deal of her time had been focused on "Games Business"...a clumsy euphemism for "forced prostitution"...and, as a result, had been forced to deal with distractions that, Cressida was forced to admit, made Katniss a less than desirable documentary subject._

_Personally, of course, Cressida felt horrible for her young friend. Katniss, for all her skills in coping with the hardships of the arena and her abilities to provide for herself and her family...not to mention that she was able to kill quite easily when she was forced to...was quite naive in matters relating to sex. In fact, Katniss had confessed to Cressida that the first (and at that time, the only) boy she had ever kissed had been Gale Hawthorne. And, as she herself had been a rape victim at a young age, she had nothing but sympathy for what seventeen-year-old Katniss Everdeen was forced to endure._

_Professionally, however, Cressida had to admit that the video that she and her crew had managed to record of Katniss's journey into the world of Hunger Games Mentoring was barely useable. Fortunately, she was not expected to release the finished product until after the Games were over. And, as she and her camera crew were effectively banned from both Gamemaker Control and the Trench, and as neither Katniss nor Haymitch Abernathy had returned to the Training Center since the Games began, Cressida had no new video to work with, and instead had been trying to edit what she and her crew had recorded up to the moment of Launch Day._

_So, when the call came from none other than Caesar Flickerman..."Pack it up. You're headed to Twelve for Final Eight Interviews. You'll be leaving by high-speed hovercraft in one hour"...Cressida was actually grateful._

_She and her crew had just enough time to pack their equipment, grab their "Alert Bags"...pre-packed suitcases with enough clothing and toiletries for a short stay anywhere in Panem...and head to the Capitol hoverport._

_The hovercraft was already rising off the platform even as the rear ramp was closing. By the time Cressida and her crew...Messalla, Castor, and Pollux...had taken their seats, the hovercraft was climbing steeply and rocketing east, toward District Twelve._

_Cressida's crew was well trained and experienced. Even by high-speed hovercraft, the flight would take three hours. With nothing else to do until their arrival, they did the only thing that they could do under the circumstances._

_They slept._

_All except for Cressida. For, as fond as she was of Katniss Everdeen, she was equally fond of Peeta Mellark...but she had to admit, that Peeta affected her much differently than Katniss did._

I hope that District Twelve appreciates what a fine young man Peeta really is,  _Cressida says to herself as she stares out the window at the passing clouds._  Perhaps now they understand that he's a victim of ugly rumors and gossip...not to mention outright lies.

 _Cressida leans back and closes her eyes._ Peeta certainly looked magnificent in the Tribute Parade...and oh, so handsome at the Interviews with Caesar! And his arena uniform...oh, my!  _Cressida's eyes snap open and she shakes her head slightly._  What am I thinking? He's just a boy! I'm more than ten  _years_  older than he is! _Cressida settles back against the headrest and closes her eyes again._  I can't be thinking like this. I'm a journalist. I must remain objective. Katniss Everdeen must be blind if she can't see how devoted that boy is to her! Oh, Snow...I hope he wins!  _Cressida lets out a soft sigh._

Shit. So much for objectivity and journalistic detachment. I can't deny it. That boy does something to me.

_Finally, Cressida drifts off to sleep. And her dreams have nothing to do with professionalism, objectivity, or journalistic detachment...and everything to do with a naked Peeta Mellark._

_And, when a cabin attendant comes through later to offer food and beverage service, he has to wonder why the beautiful blonde Resident Director has such a large smile on her face while she sleeps._

* * *

_"Let's do this outside," Cressida suggests._

_Mr. Mellark hesitates as he glances toward his wife. "How long will this take?" Mrs. Mellark asks._

_Cressida gives the woman her best winning smile, while thinking,_ Her son is fighting for his life in the Hunger Games and she's worried about her business!

_"I promise, just a few minutes," Cressida replies._

_"Come along, dear," Mr. Mellark says, speaking to his wife. "The boys can watch the shop for a few moments."_

_Reluctantly, Mrs. Mellark allows herself to be led out of the bakery and into the bright summer sunshine. Cressida points to a nearby apple tree. "How about over here?"_

_Cressida stands the Mellarks under the tree while Castor waits patiently. She then turns to Messalla._

_"Exteriors of the bakery, the street, and their view of the Square." Cressida orders._

_"Got it," Messalla says, as he and Pollux turn to their task. Cressida smiles and turns back to the Mellarks._

_"I'm just going to ask a few questions, alright?"_

_The Mellarks nod nervously. "Okay, then," Cressida says, turning to Castor. "On my mark. Three...two...one...mark."_

_Castor flashes a quick thumbs up signal to Cressida, who says, "I'm here in District Twelve speaking with the parents of Peeta Mellark, Final Eight Tribute of the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games." She turns to the Mellarks. "Tell me, how are you two holding up so far?"_

_Mr. Mellark sighs and smiles nervously. "As well as can be expected."_

_"Of course," Cressida replies, turning to Mrs. Mellark. "And you, Mrs. Mellark? After all, your son was Reaped last year, and ended up Volunteering this year. Your feelings?"_

_"My son," Mrs. Mellark begins, and then pauses for a moment. "My son, Peeta...he's representing District Twelve well. And he's done far better than I would have expected him to."_

That certainly doesn't sound like your typical "frantic with worry" mother,  _Cressida says to herself. Biting her tongue, she turns back to Mr. Mellark._

_"The Games are scarcely thirty hours old, and we are already in the Final Eight," Cressida remarks. "At this rate, these Games may be the fastest in history. Your thoughts on this?"_

_"Peeta's a smart, strong boy," Mr. Mellark says. "He...if anyone can do it, he can."  
_

_"'Do it?'" Cressida repeats. "Do you mean, win the Games?"_

_"Yes," Mr. Mellark replies. "That's exactly what I mean." He looks directly at the camera. "I would like to say something, if I may."_

_Cressida nods. "Of course. Please continue."_

_Mr. Mellark clears his throat. "Just this," he says softly. "I've..._ we've _...made mistakes with Peeta. And Snow knows that forgiveness is not something that we have any right to expect. But we want him to know that we love him and that we are both very, very proud of him."_

_Cressida can see that the emotion coming from the man is genuine. "You do know," she says gently, "that this message won't get to Peeta?"_

_"He'll see it," Mr. Mellark says firmly, "after he wins."_

_Cressida nods and smiles, and then turns to Mrs. Mellark. "And you, Mrs. Mellark? Would you like to add anything?"_

_"My husband speaks for us both," Mrs. Mellark replies with a tight smile, and then glances up at the canopy of apple tree branches hanging over her head._ There's something about this tree that makes this woman nervous,  _Cressida says to herself_. I wonder what it is?

_"Thank you both for taking the time to speak with me today," Cressida says with a smile._

_She then turns to Castor. "And...cut." She turns back to the Mellarks. "Thank you again. We're done. And could you please send your boys out?"_

_"Of course," Mr. Mellark replies as he and his wife walk back into the bakery._

_"How did it look?" Cressida asks Castor once the Mellarks were back inside the bakery._

_"Good," Castor replies, then adds, "That woman is really a cold fish, huh?"_

_"You felt it too?" Castor nods. "I feel so badly for Peeta...having a mother like that," Cressida says softly._

_"Boss, you don't sound very 'objective' and 'detached,'" Castor says with a smile._

_Cressida sighs. "Castor, I'm not, where that boy is concerned. And that stays between you and I," she adds sternly._

_Castor crosses his fingers over his chest. "You have my word."_

_Cressida smiles, and then nods toward the bakery. "Here come the brothers. Showtime, Castor."_

* * *

_"Thank you for agreeing to speak with me, Mrs. Hawthorne," Cressida says gently._

_Cressida and Hazelle Hawthorne are sitting in Hazelle's barren, but spotlessly clean, kitchen. Castor is recording from a discreet corner. The Hawthorne children are all outside...sent on various errands by Hazelle so she could talk to the "Capitol woman" in peace._

_"You're welcome, young lady," Hazelle says._

_"I may bring up some things that you might not wish to talk about," Cressida says. "Please don't hesitate to stop the interview if you don't feel comfortable speaking about something."_

_"Girl, I lost my husband over six years ago," Hazelle says firmly. "I've been providin' for my children ever since. And I lost my oldest son last year. I'm a strong woman. Ask your questions. I'll answer them all."_

_"Very well," Cressida says, taking a sip of tea. She nods appreciatively as she carefully sets the battered cup down. "The tea is very good!"_

_"My own brew," Hazelle says with a small smile. "An old family secret."_

_"Anyway," Cressida continues, "Last year, your son, Gale, Volunteered for Peeta Mellark. And last year, I was here, interviewing you when Gale made the Final Eight."_

_"Yes," Hazelle says softly. "Yes, you were."_

_"This year," Cressida continues, "Peeta Volunteers. I have two questions...one, do you have any ideas as to Peeta's motives for Volunteering, and two, what are your thoughts about it?"_

_"The boy Volunteered 'cause he felt he had to," Hazelle replies bluntly. "And that's a crock. That boy don't need to prove nothin' more to nobody. Problem is, everyone can see it but him."_

_As Hazelle pauses to sip her tea, Cressida asks, "And your thoughts?"_

_"I hope he comes home," Hazelle says softly. "If he does, then this entire district owes him an apology."_

_"And if he doesn't?" Cressida asks gently._

_Hazelle pauses before answering. "That boy showed this whole district what he's made of a few months back. If he don't come home...we need to do whatever it takes to make sure that we don't ever forget him."_

_"Thank you," Cressida says, turning to Castor. "Hazelle Hawthorne, mother of Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games Tribute Gale Hawthorne, here in District Twelve." She pauses for a moment, then says, "And...cut."_

_"We're done?" Hazelle asks._

_"Yes, ma'am," Cressida replies with a smile. "And thank you again. That was perfect."_

_"This gonna be on the Holo?" Hazelle asks._

_"Tonight, after the recap, during Mandatory Viewing," Cressida replies._

_"Good," Hazelle replies. "There's a shitload of people here in Twelve what gotta see what I had to say."_

_"Don't worry," Cressida says, patting the older woman on the arm. "They will."_

* * *

_"Thank you, girls, for taking the time out to talk to me today," Cressida says to the two blonde-haired girls sitting across from her. "I understand that you two are Peeta Mellark's oldest friends here in Twelve."_

_"Yes, we are," Delly Cartwright replies. Delly is the closest thing to "pudgy" that Cressida has seen here in Twelve, and somewhat plain-faced as well...until she smiles. Cressida had never seen a persons' face transform as much by a simple smile as Delly's did._

_"Can you describe for me how Peeta's changed in the last year?" asks Cressida._

_"He's much angrier now," Madge Undersee replies. The Mayor's daughter, Madge is classically beautiful...honey blonde hair, fair complexion, and slender...but at the same time, not nearly as friendly or outgoing as Delly Cartwright._

_"How so?" Cressida probes._

_"Peeta was always smiling, always upbeat...one of the most popular boys in school," Delly replies. "But after all the...troubles...he's a different person now."_

_"And the worst of it is, none of it was his fault," Madge adds. "But this is a small district. Ugly rumors are hard to kill here."_

_"Let's talk about those rumors for a moment," Cressida interjects. "As I understand it, every rumor about Peeta Mellark was discounted, and it was shown that he was telling the truth about, well, everything, the entire time. Did that change him in any way?"_

_"Peeta is resentful, angry, and hurt by his treatment," Madge explains. "People that he knew and trusted turned their backs on him." Madge pauses for a moment and lowers her eyes. "And I have to include myself and Delly with that statement."_

_"I agree," says Delly softly, her large blue eyes brimming with tears._

_"I understand that you both went to see him during Visiting Hour," Cressida says. "Does he know how badly you both feel?"_

_"Yes," Madge replies quietly. "But I'm hoping for a chance to see him again. It will take a lifetime to make up for how we've treated him."_

_Cressida nods thoughtfully. "I have to ask this. It's about Peeta's partner, Gamma Churchill. The Community Home couldn't tell me much about her. Do either of you know her at all?"_

_"I had her in a couple of classes at school," Delly says. "But I can't say that I really knew her. Community Home kids tend to keep to themselves. I do remember that she seemed really smart, though."_

_"I wish I could tell you more," Madge adds. "But I didn't know her all that well either. I do know this, though. Peeta likes her. I can tell just from what I've seen on Mandatory Viewing. And I don't think he could have picked a better ally."_

_"Thank you very much, girls," Cressida says with a smile._

_"Thank you for having us," Delly replies, returning Cressida's smile._

* * *

_"Tell me about Peeta, Primrose," Cressida prompts gently._

_"He's a strong person," Prim replies immediately._

_"How so?" Cressida asks. "Physically, you mean?"_

_"In here, mostly," Prim replies, tapping her chest over her heart. "A weak person would have given up. Peeta never gave up."_

_"You're talking about the troubles he's had here over the past year," Cressida says._

_"Yes," Prim replies softly. "He's been shunned by the district, been lied about, and even flogged. And, through all that, he never broke."_

_"I've been told that the troubles here have changed him. Do you think he's changed?"_

_"I didn't know him all that well before last year," Prim admits. "But even so, I can tell that he's not the same boy that he was before last years' Reaping. But I think that the old Peeta is still in there someplace," she finishes with a smile._

_"I'm sure he is," Cressida says. "Now, I was wondering if you could tell me anything about Gamma Churchill?"_

_"Not much, I'm afraid," Prim says apologetically. "The Churchill family was our neighbors up until the mine accident six years ago. Both her parents died in the accident. She and her brother ended up in the Home, and he died too, a few years later, during a flu epidemic. But I can't say that I know her."_

_Cressida sighs. "No one seems to."_

_"I will say this," Prim adds. "I don't think Peeta could have picked a better ally than Gamma."_

_"You aren't the first to say that, Primrose," Cressida says with a smile. "And thank you for your time today."_

_"Thank you for wanting to talk to me," says Prim with a smile of her own._

* * *

_"Ready?" Cressida asks her crew as they take their seats._

_"Ready," Messalla replies. "Raw video has been uploaded directly to Caesar. He'll have some snippets to play during tonight's Mandatory Viewing. We can clean it up some during the flight back and finish up editing this evening. We'll have a nice, polished video for tonight's late broadcast."_

_"Good. Let's get started. We have three hours. By the way," Cressida adds, "anything happening in the arena since we left?"_

_"No deaths," Messalla says. "But Gamma seems to have figured the arena out."_

_"Figured it out?" Cressida asks in confusion._

_Messalla smiles. "I'll brief you during the flight."_

**PART VII**

We keep the Careers in sight long enough to figure out what part of the beach they were heading back to. Once we were sure that they were following the tail of the Cornucopia back to the beach, we decided that the best place for us was the opposite side of the lake. So that's where we headed.

As always, we kept to the tree line, keeping ourselves concealed while still able to watch the beach...and, at the same time, as much of the arena as possible. It was slow going, it was hot, and it was humid. And, no matter how many vines we cut, there was never enough water.

My urine...what little there was of it...was a rich brown color. I'm sure the others were in the same predicament. But I didn't hear a single complaint.

I was still preoccupied with the subject of how to find water when, out of the clear blue...or should I say clear pink...sky, a lightning bolt arced down on the other side of the arena and struck a large tree.

We all stop in our tracks, staring across the salt lake as a violent lightning storm erupts. Like the storm last night, it seemed confined to one small area of the arena. Unlike the storm last night, it wasn't preceded by the series of bell-like tones that we heard the first time.

I glance up at the sky and see that Gamma is doing the same. It was cloudless...although, in the arena, that didn't mean a whole lot, as the lightning seemed to be coming from the pink sky itself...and the sun was virtually directly overhead. Gamma mutters to herself as she glances at the sky, then at the storm, and finally at the Cornucopia.

"What is it?" I ask.

Gamma shakes her head impatiently. "Maybe nothing. I'll know more later." And no amount of prodding would get her to expand on her statement.

We continue to move, although more slowly now, as the lightning storm continues to rage over the far side of the arena.  _If the Careers were caught in that_ , I say to myself,  _we should be hearing cannons soon...hopefully._  But no cannons were forthcoming. Just lightning and thunder.

We reach a spot that looks familiar...the area where we had hidden earlier that morning, waiting for the Feast. There's no trace of blood on the sand where Lupa had died...the surge following the giant wave had washed the sand clean.

"Let's take a break," I gasp as we melt back into the trees that offer our only protection from the sun.

I drop my pack and carefully lay the slingshot on top of it, placing the bag of metal balls next to the wrist rocket. My stomach cramps uncomfortably. I turn to the others.

"I'll be right back," I say. "Gotta take care of something."

Husker acknowledges me with a nod. I walk a little further down the tree line, until I'm sure that I'm out of sight of my friends, and only then do I strip off the coverall and carefully squat down, clutching a handful of large, green leaves.

 _I sure as hell hope that these leaves aren't poison or something_ , I say to myself as I carefully wipe myself clean. I can't resist but to look up and wave, knowing that there's a camera somewhere nearby that's recording my every move.  _I wonder if that'll make it onto Mandatory Viewing tonight_. I smile to myself as I fasten the coverall and take one last look around before heading back.

Something shiny and glinting in the sunlight catches my eye. I head a few more meters down the tree line, curious as to what it might be. In a few seconds I have my answer.

It's a silvery arrow, sticking out of the trunk of a tree.

I frown in puzzlement. Why is Aurora shooting at trees? Then I remember that morning...an arrow barely missing the District Eight girl as she charged into the jungle. I nod in satisfaction. This is where that arrow ended up. And we would have missed it if I hadn't had to answer nature's call.

I'm just about to turn away and rejoin the rest of my Alliance when I notice something else...something that makes me freeze in my tracks. I lean closer to the tree, examining the area directly under the arrow carefully. It looks...wet.

I reach out with a trembling hand and run my fingers over the spot. It's definitely damp. I bring my fingers to my nose and sniff cautiously. No smell. I grab the arrow and carefully work it out of the tree trunk, taking care not to break the shaft. And, as it finally comes loose in my hand, I see a trickle of clear fluid drip from the small hole in the trunk.

I dip my fingers in the stream and bring them to my mouth and taste. There's no doubt in my mind now. There's water  _inside_  the tree. Suddenly, as if struck by one of the lightning bolts still flashing on the far side of the arena, I realize exactly what that strange metal tube is for.

I hurry back to my friends, who are all still languishing in the shade, watching the lightning storm.

"Hey, Townie," Gamma says cheerfully. "Everything come out all right?"

Husker laughs at Gamma's crude joke, but I ignore them both. I head straight for Evie.

Evie is reclined on the jungle floor, her eyes half closed. "Evie," I say softly, my voice trembling with excitement, "I need your pack."

Evie opens her eyes and looks up at me. "Okay." She doesn't question why I need it. She simply hands it over to me.

"Come on," I say to her, and then help her stand up.

Gamma and Husker both eye me suspiciously. "What's goin' on, Peeta?" Husker asks.

"I think I found water," I say, trying...and failing...to keep my voice under control.

"Holy shit!" Gamma nearly shouts. "Why the fuck didn't you say somethin'?" She and Husker are both scrambling to their feet.

"I...I'm not entirely sure...yet," I explain. I glance around until I spot the same kind of tree that Aurora's arrow had been stuck in. I walk to the tree, pulling the small knife from the pack, and, as I start to work on the trunk, I explain to Gamma, Husker, and Evie how I had found the arrow and the water that was leaking around it.

"So you think that's what this thing is for?" Gamma holds up the metal tube.

"Yeah," I reply as the small knife continues to dig into the soft wood. I can see the blade glistening with moisture as I work.  _This_ has _to work. It_ has _to!_

My hands are sore from exertion...especially my left hand, still tender from being burned by that poison fog earlier...when I finally think that the hole is deep enough. I insert my finger carefully, scooping out small chunks of damp wood, and then I take the metal tube and carefully push it into the hole. For a moment I'm afraid that I didn't make the hole either big enough or deep enough...but the tube slides in with a little effort and stops. I pull on the tube and get very little play.

The four of us gather around the tree, staring at the tube as the seconds tick by, waiting, waiting, and waiting for...

Yes! A thin stream of water begins to flow from the tube. I stick my mouth underneath it and feel the water...tepid, metallic tasting, and oh, so good!...flow into my mouth. I swallow several mouthfuls before yielding my place to one of my friends.

Gamma steps forward eagerly, her mouth wide under the flow of water...now coming out in a stronger stream...as she drinks, sputters, coughs, laughs, and drinks some more. And, as Evie and Husker thirstily drink, I grab up my pack, jerking it open and pulling out the large, empty water bottle.

Husker is just stepping away from the tube when I return with the bottle. I stick my mouth under the stream once more, drinking deeply, and then hold the bottle underneath the stream until it's full.

As I cap the bottle Gamma, Husker, and Evie each take one last long drink, before Gamma raps sharply on the tube with the handle of the machete, deftly dislodging it from the hole. She picks up the tube and hands it, along with the knife, back to Evie.

"Here you go," she says softly. "You're the keeper of our water, now."

Evie smiles as she carefully replaces the tube and the knife back into the small pack. I glance around at my Alliance...at my  _friends_...and say, "Let's eat something before we head out again."

We sit, just inside the tree line, and lay out our dwindling stock of dried meat, fruit and crackers...and, as we eat and watch the lightning ravage the far side of the arena, for the first time since we were Launched, I actually have real hope that I just may come out of this alive.

* * *

The lightning storm stops just as abruptly as it began. We're just about done eating when the last lightning blast arcs down from the pink sky. We're all relieved. Gamma looks up at the sun and I see her eyes narrow as she looks back across the arena.

"Glad that's over," Husker mutters. Evie nods in agreement.

"Over?" Gamma says with a laugh. "It ain't  _over_. Look!"

Even as Gamma points we can all see weird clouds boiling up as if out of nowhere, until an entire section of arena is covered. Gamma turns back to us triumphantly.

"How much you wanna bet that's blood rain?" she asks with a smirk.

From the looks that we are giving her, it must have been pretty apparent that we weren't following her reasoning. "Look," she says impatiently, as she picks up a stick and uses it to quickly clear the sand in front of her. She quickly draws a circle, and in the center she draws a small triangle, with the apex pointed toward the top of the circle.

"That's the lake," she explains. "And this -" she points at the triangle "- is the Cornucopia." She then draws twelve equally spaced lines radiating out from the Cornucopia. "These are the spokes that we used to get to the Cornucopia. Go take a look at the real thing," she says, pointing toward the center of the lake. "Twelve spokes."

"Okay, I get it," I say impatiently. "So what?"

"Shit," she mutters in disgust, before looking back up at us. "Okay." She draws a lightning bolt at the top of the circle. "Lightning storm. Last night and just now, right?"

A glimmer of understanding begins to dawn in my brain. "Go on," I say.

"Anyone else notice that the sun was directly overhead when the lightning struck that tree? And remember last night, before the lightning hit, that bell rang twelve times?"

"Twelve," I whisper. "Midnight and Noon."

"You know, Townie," Gamma says with a smile, "You ain't as fuckin' stupid as you look."

I sure feel stupid. The answer was right in front of us and it took us this long to see it.

"This is what we know," Gamma continues. "Lightning here." She shifts over to the next wedge. "Blood rain going on right now." The next wedge. "Next, that poison fog shit that you ran into last night." Gamma draws question marks in the next several wedges. "We don't know what, if anything, goes on in these areas." Next, she writes the word "animal" in the wedge directly adjacent to the one we were sitting in. "The District Eight girl this morning." A few more question marks, then a picture of a wave.

Gamma sits back. "That's it. What we know so far, anyway. A different...shit, what would you call them... _horror_ , that's it! A different horror every hour." She sits back on her heels and smiles at us triumphantly.

Husker leans forward and examines the crude drawing more closely. "Shit," he breathes. "It looks just like a -"

"It is," Gamma says confidently. "It's a fuckin'  _clock_. And the tail of the Cornucopia points to twelve."

* * *

"I sure wish we knew where the Careers are," I say worriedly, as I put my pack on.

"You worry too much," Gamma says with a laugh. "Look, Townie, we've got this arena  _beat_! All we gotta do is stay ahead of the clock and it can't hurt us!"

"And it's your idea to hit the Cornucopia," I say skeptically, "get our bearings from there, and -"

"- And from the Cornucopia, we head toward the fog section," Gamma finishes for me. "That shit will have cleared by the time we get out there. We won't have to move for  _hours_!"

"Yeah," Husker chimes in. "And once the lightning storm happens tonight, we just wait for it to stop, and then we move up the beach, past the blood rain, and we camp by the lightning tree -"

"- Where we'll have twelve hours to figure out our next move!" Gamma finishes triumphantly.

It seemed like a good plan...even a great plan. And now that we could get water virtually anywhere, at any time, our only concern now was food...and the Careers.

And so, reluctantly, I enter the water along with the rest of my Alliance. We agreed to remain in the water all the way to Cornucopia Island...the theory being, the Careers would have a tougher time spotting us in the water than if we used the spokes to walk to the Island. It would take longer, but we probably wouldn't be seen this way.

It is slow going. At least, with our flotation belts, we won't accidentally drown. I deliberately hang back, helping Evie, Gamma, and Husker negotiate the water until we can feel the rocks of the island under our feet. Carefully we pull ourselves out of the water, alert for any signs of Careers on the island...but we're alone.

We quickly make our way around to the "tail" of the Cornucopia, and then go three wedges over. This is it. Back into the water, a careful swim to the beach...and several hours inside a relatively benign jungle until we have to move. Hours where we can sleep, possibly look for food, and plan on what to do next.

I pull out my water bottle and we pass it around until it's drained. I replace the empty bottle in my pack carefully and close the pack securely, and then I stand and swing the pack onto my back, pulling the straps tight.

"Feel better, Townie?" Gamma asks.

I had to admit that the plan seemed to be working. "Yeah," I reply. "Okay, I think we -"

A sudden jolt knocks me off me feet. My first thought is  _earthquake_! But then, as the ground continues to move beneath me, and as my legs are being pulled toward the water by an unseen force, I realize that it's no earthquake.

I manage to lift my head, suddenly heavier than it's ever been, off the ground and what I see has to be impossible. With effort I focus my eyes on the jungle and it, along with the beach and tree line, seems to be  _moving_...spinning past me faster and faster. And, as I feel myself being dragged backwards toward the now-churning water, I realize that it's not the beach and jungle that's spinning.

It's me...or, more precisely, Cornucopia Island.

I'm only vaguely aware of the shouts and screams of my allies as I struggle to hold on as the island continues to spin beneath me. It's a battle that I know I will lose, as I feel myself slip closer and closer to the water...until, with a final spasm, the island seems to shake me off and I plunge into the churning water.

At first my only thought is that I'll be hit by one of the spokes that are also rotating, along with the Cornucopia...until I realize that each spoke is pushing water ahead of it, and that I'm literally riding on a wave.

The spinning seems to go on forever, which, of course, it doesn't...until I sense from the lessening pressure in the water that the Cornucopia is slowing down. Spitting and spluttering, I somehow manage to keep my head above water until the Cornucopia finally grinds to a halt.

As I pull myself from the water and back onto the rocky island, I realize that every member of my Alliance was tossed into the churning lake. I'm the first one out of the lake, and I help Evie, Gamma, and Husker in turn pull them from the water. Miraculously, no one was seriously hurt, and we didn't lose a thing...somehow Husker managed to hang onto his sickle, and Gamma her machete. Evie had the small pack strapped securely to her back, as was mine.

"Everyone all right?" I ask needlessly as my friends cough violently, expelling the water from their mouths and throats.

"Oh, yeah," Gamma says sarcastically. "Just fuckin' peachy!"

I ignore her sarcasm and help Evie to her feet. The four of us stand for a moment and try to get our bearings.

"Okay," Husker says slowly, "where's twelve o'clock?"

"There," Gamma points impatiently. "See the tail? Follow it and it points straight at the lightning tree."

I shake my head slowly. "No it doesn't. Look." I point along the tail, which was now pointing at a random section of jungle.

Gamma pales for a moment before responding. "Okay, then. We just find that tree and we'll be back in business."

"Gamma," Husker says gently. "Take a look.  _Every_  section has a single, giant tree...see?"

I look around, and, with a sinking feeling in my stomach; I realize that Husker's right. And I also realize that our great discovery about the truth of the arena is now useless...and will be until the next lightning storm tonight.

"Well, we can't stay here," I point out. "We're like bugs on a plate out here."

"Shit," Gamma says softly. "Shitshitshitshitshit!"

I gather up my Alliance and, together, we slip back into the now-calm water and begin to head towards a section of beach. And, as we slowly and carefully paddle, two things are painfully apparent.

We have no idea which sections will be dormant for a while, and which sections will suddenly become active...and we have no idea whatsoever where the Careers are.

Gamma said it perfectly.

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be going on vacation next week, so I may not be able to post chapter 18 for a while. I am taking my laptop with me, though...and if I get a chance to update while I'm gone I certainly will!


	18. CHAPTER 18

**CHAPTER 18**

**PART I**

Ishmael Brennan died late in the afternoon of the second day. And it was plain dumb luck that I didn't die as well.

After reaching the beach, we decided to take a chance that we weren't in an active wedge and try a different tactic. So far every Tribute that we've seen...Career and Non-Career alike...had been sticking close to the beach, especially after that first night when we had ended up being soaked by the blood rain. There was no reason to think that the Careers would do anything but stick with their game plan. So, we decided to do the opposite...climb as high as we could into the arena, perhaps even to the arena's edge...and maybe, just maybe, we would be able to catch the Careers off guard.

It was just our bad luck that the Careers chose that particular time to change their tactics as well.

The Career pack had split up, with Ishmael and Silver taking the "high" ground, away from the beach, while Aurora and Lexus covered the beach, where Aurora's skill with her bow would give them the best advantage. It was, on the surface, a logical plan...if we encountered Ishmael and Silver; our instinct would probably be to retreat toward the beach...right where Aurora and Lexus would be waiting.

The problem was that Tributes that are hungry, thirsty, exhausted and scared rarely act logically...and we were no exception.

In fact, we were downright preoccupied by an animal...the first, other than brightly colored birds and lizards, that we had actually seen here in the arena...that I had managed to bring down with my slingshot.

"What is it?" Gamma asked as her face screwed up in an expression of distaste.

"Fuck if I know," Husker replied. The best description that I could come up with for the ugly animal was "tree rat." It had gray fur, a scaly tail, and a protruding muzzle...and absolutely no fear of people. In fact, I was so close when I shot it that the small steel ball had actually penetrated the skin of the animal and was lodged someplace inside.

I contemplate the animal for a few seconds before turning to Evie. "Can I get the knife from you?" I ask. She immediately hands it over with a shy smile.

"You thinkin' about eatin' that thing?" Gamma asks incredulously.

I carefully insert the knife under the skin near the groin and carefully slice upwards. I had practiced skinning rabbit and squirrel enough. This wasn't a whole lot different.

"Why not? Meat's meat."

"Yeah, but how you gonna cook that thing? We ain't got no fire, " Gamma points out.

Shit. I stop skinning the animal for a moment. She's right. No fire. No way to make fire. And, therefore, no way to cook the animal.

I sigh in frustration, letting the dead animal drop to the ground as I straighten up. And, as I turn toward Husker, I'm suddenly driven to my knees by the force of something slamming into my upper back,  _hard_.

I cry out as a sudden, stabbing pain shoots through my upper back near my right shoulder. I hear shouts and curses as I gasp in pain, somehow managing to turn, and catching a fleeting glimpse of a pair of figures darting for the cover of a large stand of trees.

Husker grabs the slingshot from my nerveless fingers and quickly shoots...once, twice, a third time...loading and pulling back on the sling as quickly as he can while Gamma somehow manages to help me to my feet.

More shouts as Gamma face swims into view. "Gamma," I gasp, "What -"

"Careers!" She hisses. "Come on!"

I stumble after her, belatedly noticing that she's clutching a spear.  _Where the fuck did_ that _come from?_  I notice blood on the razor-sharp spear head, and suddenly realize that this spear was what hit me in the back...and that one edge had cut my shoulder. That was  _my_  blood on the blade! I suddenly feel weak-kneed as I stumble and almost fall, my body reacting to how close I had come to dying just a few moments before.

"Stay with me, Townie!" Gamma snaps as she pushes me ahead of her. Somehow I keep on my feet as we continue to stumble uphill, sometimes slowing, but never stopping. A couple of times I catch sight of Husker and Evie, so I know that they're keeping up with us.

Suddenly, Gamma grabs my arm and pulls me back. "Stop!" I glance back at her, a frown on my face.

"What the hell are you doing?" I demand. "Let's go!"

Gamma shakes her head. "No. This is as far as we go. Look." She points ahead, seemingly at a patch of jungle indistinguishable from any other.

I peer along her arm, my eyes straining to see what she's seeing, but all I see is green.

"What am I supposed to be looking at?"

"I see it," Evie says in a near whisper.

Husker pulls up next to us. "What's going on?"

"Gamma stopped us," I explain. "She and Evie see something."

Husker peers ahead and shrugs. "I don't see shit," he says. "Come on!"

In response, Gamma throws down the spear and snatches the slingshot from a shocked Husker. Without missing a beat, Gamma turns, facing the patch of jungle that she'd been pointing at, grabs a seedpod the size of my thumb off a nearby bush, loads it in the sling, pulls back, and shoots.

There's a small flash of light, a puff of smoke, and a very brief sizzling sound...and the seedpod falls to the ground, blackened and smoking. I understand now why Gamma had stopped so abruptly.

A force field.

"Shit," I whisper. I look at my companions. "That must be the edge of the arena."

Finally, I can see what Gamma and Evie had been looking at. The force field, although transparent, uses a tremendous amount of energy. And this energy is being forcibly contained to a small, concentrated area. I had seen something similar with the force field on the roof of the Training Center...in places it distorts vision, causing an effect similar to rippling water. I catch glimpses of that now.

And it gives me an idea.

* * *

"That's the craziest thing I've ever heard," Gamma says softly. "No. Not only no, but  _fuck_  no!"

The four of us are huddled together, our backs to the force field. The Careers are still out there, but their advantage of surprise is gone...and they have to know that, not only did they not kill me, but that now we have a spear as well. The jungle is too thick here to use ranged weapons effectively, so they would have to get close...and the odds of both Careers coming through uninjured against four armed Tributes were not good.

So, they probably won't attack until they gain some sort of advantage. And that's where I come in. They won't attack the four of us together, but they couldn't pass up the opportunity to finish off a lone, wounded Tribute if they had the chance.

And that's where my idea is headed. I'm going to offer myself as bait.

"Look," I say reasonably. "We're pinned down here. We can't go down without running into Careers. We can't go up because of the force field. And we can't stay here forever...who knows when this wedge will go active." I glance quickly at the faces of my allies...my friends...before continuing. "And I have an advantage in hand to hand combat, not to mention that I know the force field is here...and they don't."

Gamma looks at me skeptically. "What's the force field got to do with anything?"

"Easy," I explain. "Anything touches it will be fried. So I maneuver a Career into a position where I can throw, push, or shove him...or her...into the force field...and let it do the work for me."

"I don't like it," Husker says. "You're assumin' that they won't just spear you from a distance."

I wince a little as Evie binds my shoulder. I had sacrificed one sleeve of my coverall to make a makeshift bandage. She had smeared the last of that first aid cream that had been in our Feast gift on the wound, causing the pain to subside to a dull, throbbing ache, and was now knotting the sleeve over the wound. It was a long cut, and painful, but shallow.

"They can't spear me, or throw a knife at me, if they can't see me. And I'll be hidden."

"And you just expect us to leave you?" Gamma asks skeptically.

"No, I expect you to  _act_ like you're leaving me." I'm speaking to them all, but looking at Gamma. She's the one that I have to convince. "Look, I don't have a death wish...but this is a win-win for you three."

"No death wish, he says," Gamma mutters. "And yet he Volunteers. Okay, Townie...how do the three of us win no matter what?"

"If I'm right, I'll take out at least one Career. If I'm wrong, they'll be preoccupied with me, and you three can get away.

"And you die," Gamma says flatly. "No. No way."

"But that's not gonna happen," I say gently. "The Careers won't pass up a chance at what they think is a dramatic kill...they're too arrogant, and arrogance can be a  _big_  problem,, after all...so I'll end up fighting on  _my_ terms."

Gamma still wasn't convinced. "Look, Townie..."

I was tired of arguing, my shoulder hurt, and I wanted to work my way out of this wedge...I had a bad feeling that it would be going active soon. "Gamma. Enough. We've wasted enough time. And remember, you aren't  _really_  leaving me...just making the Careers  _think_ you are."

Gamma glares at me in response...and then does something completely unexpected.

She hugs me.

She puts her mouth by my ear and whispers fiercely, "Damn you, Townie! You die on me and you'll fuckin' live to regret it!"

She pulls away from me abruptly, and then turns to join the others. She doesn't look back as they move through the jungle.

I settle down in my hide. I'm totally unarmed. If this doesn't work...if I can't goad one of the Careers into attacking me hand-to-hand...the next cannon shot will be for me.

**PART II**

_Beetee Latier, without the usually ever-present Wiress, bursts into the Trench shortly after one o'clock in the afternoon, arena time, and quickly walks to the District Twelve Station._

_"My suspicions are confirmed!" He looks around triumphantly. "The arena is a giant clock!"_

_"We know," Haymitch replies with a grin._

_"What? When? How?" Beetee demands, a shocked look on his face._

_Haymitch turns, taps a couple of keys, and brings up video of Gamma Churchill speaking to the Non-Career Alliance._

_"This was recorded a few minutes ago," Haymitch explains. "Listen."_

"It is," Gamma's voice says clearly. "It's a fuckin' clock. And the tail of the Cornucopia points to twelve."

_Beetee's voice doesn't mask his disappointment. "She figured it out?"_

_"That's not all they figured out," Katniss says, her voice tinged with pride. "Peeta figured out the main water source for the arena also...as well as how to use the spile I sent them."_

_Haymitch shoots Katniss a strange look before turning back to Beetee. "And she says that she doesn't have any feelings for that boy," he mutters under his breath. More loudly, he says, "Looks like our kids have this arena figured out. One less thing they have to worry about."_

_Beetee shakes his head slightly. "Haymitch, you and I both know that it's never that easy. Gamemakers always have a trick that they haven't used yet."_

_"Just let me enjoy the moment, Beetee," Haymitch replies softly, and then adds, under his breath, "Killjoy."_

* * *

_Haymitch and Katniss are staring grimly at the main projection as Gamma leads a bleeding Peeta Mellark deeper into the jungle. Katniss's face is set in a grim mask, her fingers gripping the arms of the chair so tightly that her knuckles were white._

_"That pack saved his life, Sweetheart," Haymitch says gently. "It deflected the spear just enough." He takes a long, deep pull at his bottle before carefully setting it on the table in front of him._

_Katniss abruptly turns to the Sponsor Net Terminal and brings up the Tribute Gift Catalogue. "He'll need something for that wound," Katniss mutters as she begins to scroll through the list of available medical supplies._

_"Which he_ may _get at tomorrow's Feast,_ if _he's lucky," Haymitch says sardonically._

_Katniss whirls around, her eyes blazing with anger. "Don't you fucking think I already_ know _that?" she snarls._

_Haymitch raises his hands in mock surrender. "Whoa, Sweetheart. Take it easy. I was just pointing out -"_

_"Well, I don't need you to point out the obvious!" Katniss snaps as she turns back to the terminal. Suddenly, her shoulders slump forward. "Shit," she mutters, and then turns around again. "Look...I didn't mean to yell at you. You're right, of course. It's a waste of time."_

_Haymitch grins crookedly at his young fellow Mentor. "Forget it," he replies. "And no, it's not a waste of time. If you can find something that'll help him, order it up, if we have the money. And throw in some food, too. That 'tree rat' didn't look too appealing. I'm sure the Gamemakers will want our Feast gift list before much longer, anyway."_

_"Can we toss in something as well?" Cyrus Gray's voice chimes in from the entrance to the District Twelve Station. "You know, like we did yesterday?"_

_Haymitch slowly turns and faces his fellow veteran Mentor. "Thought you shot your wad chippin' in for that medicine that we combined up on to send to Peeta 'n Husker this mornin'," Haymitch says matter-of-factly._

_"We did," Cyrus admits. "But we've been gettin' some new donations through the Sponsor Net."_

_"For Husker?" Haymitch asks with a raised eyebrow._

_"You ain't gonna believe this," Cyrus replies, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "For Evie."_

_Katniss spins around at the sound of the young Tribute's name. "Evie?" The shock is evident in her voice._

_"Amazin', ain't it?" Cyrus says. "And, admittedly, it ain't much...but I'd like to include some food for my kids...and yours as well," he adds quickly._

_"I don't see why not," Haymitch says agreeably. "You got Silky working the Sponsor Net?"_

_"Yeah," Cyrus replies. "I'll go let her know. Katniss, she'll be linking our gifts over to you in a couple minutes."_

_"I'll look for it," Katniss replies. Cyrus nods once before returning to the District Nine Station._

_"Miracles will never cease," Haymitch mutters. "Evie! Of all people!"_

_"Obviously you two are a bit out of touch with the rest of the Capitol," Effie rebukes them gently. "The betting line on Evie as of Launch yesterday was two hundred fifty to one. It was one hundred twenty-five to one for her to even make the Final Eight. It's up to fifty to one now!"_

_"I wonder if anyone took those odds?" Haymitch muses softly._

_"And you wonder why I hate this so much," Katniss whispers fiercely to Haymitch._

_Haymitch turns to his young partner. "Just remember, Sweetheart, just how risky it is to speak your mind here," he whispers back._

_Katniss's shoulders slump forward as she wearily rubs her face with her hands . "I'll just be glad when it's all over."_

_Haymitch pats her awkwardly on her shoulder. "Hang in there, Sweetheart. Hang in there." What he actually wanted to say was_ "It's never over, Sweetheart. You just figure out a way to numb yourself so it doesn't hurt quite as much." _Haymitch wisely keeps those thoughts to himself._

_Katniss, in response, grabs Haymitch's hand and squeezes it quickly, but firmly, before turning back to the monitors. Haymitch glances up at the monitors as well and sees that the Non-Career Alliance seems to be arguing about something._

_"Turn it up a little, will you, Princess?" Haymitch asks Effie, who turns and taps the volume control on her keyboard._

_Peeta's voice immediately comes through loudly and clearly._ " - pinned down here,"  _Peeta is saying._  "We can't go down without running into Careers. We can't go up because of the force field. And we can't stay here forever...who knows when this wedge will go active."  _Peeta pauses before continuing._  "And I have an advantage in hand to hand combat, not to mention that I know the force field is here...and they don't."

_Gamma speaks up._  "What's the force field got to do with anything?"

"Easy,"  _Peeta replies._  "Anything touches it will be fried. So I maneuver the Career into a position where I can throw, push, or shove him into the force field...and let it do the work for me."

_"No," Haymitch says, his face a mask of horror. "No, No, NO!"_

_Katniss turns and faces Haymitch. "Why not?" She asks. "Haymitch? Why not use the force field?"_

_"Shit!" Haymitch replies. "Bad...no, HORRIBLE idea!" He pounds his fist on the table, causing both Katniss and Effie to jump in surprise._

_Haymitch suddenly leaps to his feet and charges out of the Trench. Katniss watches him with a look of shock etched on her face._

_"What the hell's gotten into_ him _?" Katniss mutters to Effie, who just looks at Katniss and shrugs her shoulders._

_"I haven't the foggiest, dear," Effie replies, and then adds, "You had better finish the list for tomorrow's Feast, though._

_Katniss nods and turns to complete her task...and at the same time vows to find out what triggered Haymitch's sudden bizarre behavior._

**PART III**

"What's the problem, Mellark?" A voice from the brush some fifty meters away calls out. "Your pathetic little 'Alliance' desert you?"

I smile to myself. The plan, so far, is working. And, better yet, I recognize the voice as belonging to Ishmael Brennan. Perfect. He knows I killed Thalassa, his district partner. With a bit of luck that residual anger will cloud his better judgment, and I'll be able to goad him into doing something stupid...and reckless.

With my voice obviously strained from the pain, I respond with, "Why don't you come a little closer so you can see for yourself?"

Another voice calls out...this one softer, and not directed at me. "Ish...don't do anything stupid."

"Shut the fuck up, Silver!" Ishmael hisses in response.  _Good,_  I say to myself.  _Ishmael Brennan and Silver Collinwood. I have a better idea of what I'm facing now._

"What's this?" I taunt. "Fighting amongst yourselves? That definitely won't look good for your Sponsors, now, will it?"

"Just keep runnin' your mouth, asshole," Ishmael snarls. I notice that his voice sounds closer now.  _Was he just play-fighting with Silver to cover the sound of his advance?_ I have to consider that possibility.

"Maybe you might want to come in here and shut it for me, then," I say as I shift around in my hide in an attempt to face the direction his voice is coming from. I try to stifle a groan...unsuccessfully...when I accidentally put too much stress on my injured shoulder.

"What's wrong, Mellark?" It's Ishmael's turn to do some taunting of his own. "Sounds like you're hurt. Tell you what...if you come out I promise I'll make it quick. Like bash your fuckin' head in with a rock, just like you did Thalassa. Deal?"

I don't immediately respond. He's definitely closer now. Time to see if he'll take the bait. I roll out of my hide, take a deep breath, and force myself to my feet. I know he has to be close enough to see me and I can feel myself tense in anticipation of either a spear or trident flashing out of the thick jungle to bury itself in my chest.

There's no spear or trident. Just an angry Ishmael Brennan as he, too, steps from the jungle, seemingly as unarmed as I am...and he doesn't have to deal with a wounded shoulder, either.

* * *

_Keep him between you and the force field._ This thought races through my mind over and over again. Ishmael looks me up and down and grins unpleasantly.

"In a hurry to die?" He asks tauntingly as he slowly begins to stalk toward me. In response, I circle to my right slightly, hoping that Silver doesn't suddenly launch an attack from the trees...and hoping that my own Alliance will be able to stop a sneak attack if it comes.

I give him what I hope looks like an arrogant smirk. "I was just about to ask you the same thing." I watch him carefully. He's got a slight advantage over me.  _He's_ not dealing with a painful, bloody...but superficial...shoulder wound.

As we circle around each other, though, I can see that his hand-to-hand knowledge appears superficial at best.  _He probably knows of my wrestling skills...or at least how high I placed in the scholarship competition. That means that he's probably armed, even though I haven't seen a weapon. There's no way that he'll "fight fair."_

Ishmael suddenly feints toward me and I react violently, causing the Career Tribute to bark out a derisive laugh. "Scared, Mellark? You should be. I owe you one...for Thalassa."

"Bring it," I grunt. Ishmael does exactly that.

This time when he charges me it's no feint. I barely have time to turn my left shoulder toward him when he collides with me. He brings a fist down directly onto my shoulder wound, causing me to gasp loudly in pain. His attack was clumsy, however, and I'm able to toss him off me fairly easily...pain or no pain.

But he's nowhere near the force field when he hits...and the pain doesn't allow me to pursue and follow up with an attack of my own.

To his credit, Ishmael rolls when he hits the ground and pops back up, even as I'm wincing in pain and obviously favoring my right shoulder. He may not know a lot about hand-to-hand technique, but he at least knows how to fall.

I decide to try to gain a mental advantage. "That all you got?" I gasp as I begin to circle him again.

Ishmael watches me carefully, staying out of reach, mirroring my every move. "I'm not done with you yet, cannon-bait," he sneers. But even as he talks, I see my opening.

I don't have to hit him hard. All I have to do is knock him off balance so that he falls into the force field. And, as we circle each other, I can see that he's getting closer and closer to the deadly field.

Ishmael charges again...suddenly, with no feint. This time, though, I don't even try to throw him...not yet, anyway. Three seconds...that's all I'll need to get him into position.

Whether or not I get those three seconds is debatable.

Ishmael fights me viciously, pounding his fist against my shoulder wound, sending waves of pain through my body, but I don't relinquish my hold on him. He pummels me, he tries to kick, he even bites my cheek at one point...but I don't let go.

At least, not until he's in position.

I manage to hook one foot behind his ankle, and I quickly jerk my leg up and out, literally pulling his foot out from under him, even as I shove back with all the violence my pain-wracked body can muster...which is barely enough to send him off balance, and I see, to my despair, not enough to send him careening into the force field.

No matter. Ishmael does that for me.

Once again, he hits the ground and rolls...but this time, he rolls directly into the force field. A flash of light, a brief, sizzling sound...and Ishmael Brennan is on his back, his shoes and the legs of his coverall charred and blackened from their contact with the force field, his body convulsing wildly as I stagger back, my left hand clasping my right shoulder, my cheek dripping blood from Ishmael's bite, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Suddenly Ishmael gives a final, violent shudder, convulsing, his back arched...then he collapses to the ground, his body absolutely still.

I hear a crashing noise coming through the jungle as my Alliance emerges into the small clearing, immediately followed by another similar noise as Silver heads back toward the beach after he weighs the odds and decides that they're not in his favor. Husker bends over the supine body of the Career and rolls him over, revealing a pair of short bladed knives stuck in the back of his flotation belt.

Husker pulls the knives from Ishmael's belt just as the cannon goes off. I see that Gamma has kept the spear that almost killed me and has tucked my machete into her belt.

Evie stares, wide-eyed, at the lifeless body of Ishmael Brennan, then looks at me solemnly and speaks a single word.

"Seven."

**PART IV**

_Katniss watches grimly as Peeta sacrifices another sleeve in an attempt to clean up the wound on his face. Husker has placed the spile in a nearby tree and Evie is daubing at Peeta's wound, the length of sleeve soaked in water. It's the best that she's able to do. The Alliance is out of the special Capitol medicine that has served both Husker and Peeta._

_At least, until the Feast at dawn tomorrow._

_Even as a hovercraft swoops in to gather up the lifeless body of Ishmael Brennan, and even as Evie vainly tries to administer her meager brand of first aid, Claudius Templesmith's voice booms out over the entire arena._

_"Attention, Tributes. Attention. Our next Feast will be held tomorrow at dawn on Cornucopia Island. We hope to see you all there. This will be the only announcement of the Feast. Good luck...and may the odds be ever in your favor."_

_More medicine, along with real bandages, will be in the District Twelve pack, along with a supply of food. Katniss and Silky got their Feast purchases completed in time to include them in this feast._

_Katniss, by the way, is furious with Haymitch Abernathy...and her fury is unabated by the time he returns to the Trench._

_Wordlessly Haymitch sinks into his chair, ignoring Katniss's glare as he directs his unfocused stare at the main Holo projection. Katniss sits and fumes silently, waiting for an explanation from Haymitch for his bizarre behavior, but Haymitch remains silent._

_Patience is not Katniss's strong suit. "Haymitch!" She snaps, then, getting no reaction, raises her voice. "HAYMITCH!"_

_Haymitch swivels his head toward her, his eyes focusing on her anger-clouded face. "Don't start with me, Sweetheart," he mumbles, before returning his gaze to the main Holo projection._

_"Don't start?" Katniss snarls. "DON'T START? You...you_ abandoned  _me in here right when Peeta..._ your _Tribute, I might add...when Peeta is about to enter a fight for his fucking life, and you stumble back when it's all over and tell me not to FUCKING start with you?" Suddenly Katniss lashes out at the older Mentor, pummeling her fists against his chest. "Where were you? Where the fuck did you just_ have _to run off to? Huh? Answer me, you fucking rummy!"_

_Haymitch, displaying surprising speed, reaches out and catches Katniss's arms in mid swing. "Stop it," he says, surprisingly softly. "Right now."_

_Katniss, taken aback by Haymitch's surprisingly calm attitude, relaxes. She can't break Haymitch's iron grip anyway. But that doesn't diminish her anger. "Let go of me!" She snaps._

_"Not until you promise to behave," Haymitch says reasonably._

_Something in his voice...not to mention the haunted look in his eyes...takes the fight out of the young Mentor. "Fine," Katniss mutters. "Now tell me where you ran off to!"_

_Haymitch nods to the Holo projection. "He did it, didn't he?" Haymitch says resignedly. "Peeta used the force field to kill Ishmael. Right?"_

_Katniss hesitates for a moment before answering. "Yes. He did."_

_Haymitch suddenly releases Katniss's arms and slumps back into his chair. "Shit," he says softly._

_"What's this about?" Katniss demands. "What's going on, Haymitch?"_

_"To answer your earlier question, Sweetheart," Haymitch explains, "I went to see Seneca Crane."_

_"What for?" Katniss asks with a frown._

_"For help," Haymitch replies. "For Peeta."_

_"Help?" Katniss asks. "With what? Start making sense!"_

_Haymitch looks at Katniss with the same haunted expression as before. "I...it's a long story. One that I don't want to get into here. And I have no idea if I wasted my time with Seneca or not." Haymitch stands up abruptly. "Effie, can you watch things here for a moment?"_

_Effie turns from the Sponsor Net screen and gives Haymitch a small smile. "Of course."_

_"Thanks," Haymitch says absently, before turning back to Katniss. "Come on."_

_Katniss stands up. "Where are we going?"_

_"The District Four Station," Haymitch says wearily. "To offer our condolences to Finnick. My Tribute just killed his, after all...and Finnick_ is _one of the...good ones."_

_Katniss nods wordlessly and follows Haymitch out of their Station. They only manage a few steps before the sound of a scream, barely recognizable as human, followed by a new cannon blast, stops them in mid stride._

_"What the -" Haymitch begins, even as a new voice, one tinged with a combination of horror and amazement, says two words._

_"Holy shit!"_

_Katniss identifies the owner of the voice as Gloss, the male Mentor from District One. And, as Katniss glances up at the main Holo projection...and what was happening to Silver Collinwood...she couldn't agree more._

**PART V**

We've only been making our way back toward the beach for maybe ten minutes when we hear an almost inhuman scream, followed by the sound of a cannon echoing through the jungle.

Husker, who's taken my pack...gratefully, I might add...and was leading our Alliance down toward the beach, stops dead at the sound of the scream. In fact, the sound causes all of us to freeze, as we exchange uncertain glances.

"Who was that for?" Gamma asks in a near-whisper; as the echoes from the cannon blast quickly fade.

Husker shrugs. "Fuck if I know. But whoever that was...it was  _close_."

"Yeah," I chime in. "Too fuckin' close."

Evie says nothing, but her wide eyes speak volumes. On her face is written exactly what we are all thinking and feeling. That cannon blast was almost certainly for Silver Collinwood, and that could only mean one thing.

The wedge that we are all currently in is now active.

"We gotta get the fuck outta here... _now_!" Husker says, stating the obvious.

I agree. The only problem is...which way? I glance around me, but one direction looks the same as all the others. I hesitate, unwilling to choose a path, afraid that I'll end up leading my friends toward whatever it was that killed Silver, instead of to another, inactive, wedge.

Gamma doesn't hesitate. "This way," she says firmly, pointing off to our right.

Husker hesitates. "How do you know?"

"I just do," Gamma says confidently. "Now come on!" She turns in the direction that she was pointing and takes a couple of steps, then looks back at us. "Fuck.  _Move your asses_!"

Her voice shocks us into action. We move.

Gamma takes the lead, walking confidently. Husker brings up the rear. Evie and I are in the middle, with Evie sticking close to me. We only walk for a minute or two when I trot forward to catch up with Gamma. As I reach her we both glance up at the sound of a hovercraft passing slowly overhead, and then, almost in unison, we look away. Both of us know what that hovercraft is after. Silver's body.

"Six," I hear Evie say softly from behind me. I shiver involuntarily.

"Are you sure?" I ask Gamma. "About this being the right way?"

"Yeah," Gamma says tightly. "I'm sure." She glances over at me. "How's your shoulder?"

"It hurts," I reply flatly, and then I add, "So does my face."

Gamma looks at my face, and then grins. "Don't worry about that, Townie. The Career did you a favor. You got some character now."

In spite of myself, I grin back at her. "Thanks," I reply wryly. "Thanks a lot...I think."

Husker and Evie catch up with us. Both are breathing heavily from the heat and exertion. "Look at the trees," Husker says quietly.

"What about them?" I ask, my voice tinged with impatience. I immediately regret my tone. The heat and humidity, coupled with the pain in my face and shoulder, have shortened my temper considerably.

If Husker notices, he doesn't let on. "Look at the tree trunks." I take a closer look at the trees...and then I notice what Husker's talking about.

The trunks of the trees are covered with black, needle-like thorns, each one longer than my hand. I glance up the nearest tree and notice that the thorns extend up the truck for a good ten meters before stopping abruptly. I also notice that the branches are completely free of the thorns.

"Fuckin' strange," Husker whispers. "Thorns on the trunk but not on the branches. Why?"

"Who gives a shit?" Gamma replies. "Let's move."

I couldn't agree more. We continue to move, following Gamma. And, in less than a minute, she is proven right. We were heading toward the boundary of the wedge all along. We know this because Gamma suddenly collides with an invisible barrier so hard it almost knocks her down.

"Fuck!" Gamma rubs her head and extends one hand to touch the barrier. Completely transparent and completely unyielding...and unlike any force field we've seen yet. But one thing's for certain.

Whatever horror that happens to be in this wedge...we will have to deal with.

* * *

"Listen!" Evie says in a hushed voice.

We all stop and listen. We had decided to follow the barrier down toward the beach. At least we were certain of going in the right direction.

"I don't -" Husker begins.

"Shhhh!" Evie holds up one hand. We all strain to hear what's alerted Evie. We don't have long to wait.

_Hissssssssssssssssssss._  It sounds like air escaping from the brakes of a train, only infinitely more menacing...and evil.

"What  _is_  that?" I whisper.

"The reason why all these trees have thorns, I bet," Gamma replies grimly.

_Hissssssssssssssssssss._ The sound is closer now. I feel panic begin to well up inside me and I glance at each of my friends, only to see the same fear that I feel etched on their faces.

"The trees," I whisper. "We gotta get up into the trees."

"How?" Husker asks. "How can we climb with those fuckin' thorns?"

"The branches," Gamma says. "Husker, gimme a boost."

Husker hoists Gamma onto his broad shoulders, and, holding her hands to steady her, she pulls herself to her feet. The lowest branch is just about chest high on her. Gamma reaches up with one hand and grabs the branch, then lets go of Husker's hand and grabs the branch with both hands and hoists herself onto the branch. The slender branch bends under her slight weight but doesn't break. Gamma looks down at us from her perch.

"The rope," she says urgently. "Give me the rope!"

Husker's still wears my pack. I slide in behind him and fumble with the straps, opening the pack and pulling the coil of rope out, quickly tossing it up to Gamma, who catches it and loops it around her shoulders.

"How far up should I go?" She asks.

I quickly make a decision. "Just past the thorns."

_Hissssssssssssssssssss._ The sound is much closer now. Husker grips the spear firmly and turns to face the sound. I look at the slingshot in my hand and shake my head. Whatever's out there, I'm sure this puny weapon would do absolutely no good. I glance at Evie, whose face is remarkably calm and serene as she stands, facing the evil sound. I look up into the tree and see Gamma climbing quickly, and then stopping, pulling the coil of rope off her shoulders and whipping one end around the trunk.

"Oh, shit," Husker says softly. I turn toward Husker and see a look of absolute fear on his face, his eyes wide, and his features set in a mask of horror. I follow his eyes into the jungle and when I see what he's staring at I feel my own knees go weak with fear.

It's a snake. But it's unlike any snake I've ever seen.

This thing is a monster, easily twenty meters in length, with a body thicker than that of a grown man. It's slithering toward us at an almost leisurely pace, its forked tongue flickering in and out of its mouth. The fact that it's a mutt doesn't decrease the fear I feel at all. I feel a warm wetness suddenly spread over my groin and I realize that I've just pissed myself...and that I could care less.

I could care less because I know that I'm about to die. There's no way that I'll be able to climb a rope with one bad shoulder.

I hear a noise behind me and risk a glance over my shoulder to see the rope dangling two steps to my rear. "Evie! You first! Come on!" Husker shouts. But the girl stands rooted to the spot as she stares at the mutt-snake, seemingly too scared to move.

I grab her shoulder and quickly shake her. "Evie! Come on!" But, to my shock, the girl pulls away from my grip, turning and looking up at me with a serene expression on her face as she casually drops the small pack containing the spile and knife to the ground.

"No," she says quietly, before rising up on her toes to quickly kiss first my cheek, then Huskers.

"'No?'" Husker asks in amazement. "What do you mean, 'no?'"

The girl turns away and quickly skips out of our reach. "You better hurry, Husker," she says as she walks toward the advancing mutt-snake. "Peeta will need your help to get up the tree."

The realization of what she's doing hits me with the force of a solid blow. This meek, terrified little girl is willingly sacrificing herself so that Husker and Gamma will have time to help me scale the tree.

"Evie, stop!" I cry out. I feel tears springing to my eyes as I watch the girl stop, and then deliberately turn her back on the advancing mutt. "Please...you don't know what you're doing!"

"Yes, I do," Evie says in her soft voice as she closes her eyes and bows her head. "I'm going home."

The mutt-snake strikes with surprising speed. One second it's a good ten meters from the girl, and in the next its head strikes out with blinding speed, its mouth clamping down on the girl's right shoulder, picking her up bodily off the ground as it quickly coils around her. In a second the only part of her that was still visible was her head as Husker and I watch the coils contract around the girl's small body.

Tears are pouring down my face as Husker bellows with rage, hurling the spear at the coiled monster. The snake doesn't even flinch as the spearhead buries itself in the scaly flesh. The spear has no effect on the giant snake.

I quickly turn to Husker. "Up the rope!" I snap. "Now!"

Husker doesn't argue as he grabs the rope and shimmies his way up to the first branch. I see the branch bend under his weight but hold as he continues to climb. As he climbs I grab the free end of the rope and, with trembling fingers, quickly fashion a loop. With the slingshot and drawstring bag tucked securely in my belt, I drape the loop around my shoulders and snug it securely under my armpits...and hope that Husker and Gamma will be able to pull me up in time.

I glance back at the mutt-snake again, just in time to hear the cracking of bone and see Evie's face, masked with blood, as her mouth opens and she, somehow, manages to croak out one final word.

"Five."

I feel myself being hoisted into the air at the same time as the sound of Evie's cannon blast reaches my ears.

* * *

Husker and Gamma manage to haul me up to their perch some twelve meters above the jungle floor just as the mutt-snake opens its mouth and uncoils, dropping Evie's lifeless body to the jungle floor. We watch as the monster writhes around on the ground and wonder what it's doing, until we see the spear suddenly dislodge.

So, the spear at least irritated the animal. That knowledge would do us no good, however, as that was our only spear...and the snake is even now slithering toward our tree.

We watch in a kind of fascinated horror as the monster reaches the base of our tree and moves as though to coil around the trunk and begin to climb...only to recoil with a jerk and a hiss. It tries this tactic twice more with the same result each time.

"That's right, motherfucker!" Gamma screams down at the mutt, her tear-stained face contorted in rage. "You're fucking with the wrong people here!"

In response, the mutt-snake seems to actually hiss in rage as it rises up, its forked tongue obscenely flicking in and out of its mouth, and easily reaches the first branch, coiling around it one time as it continues to slither upward.

"Shit," Husker says as he tightens his grip on his sickle. "It's usin' the same fuckin' branches  _we_  used!"

I glance quickly at Gamma and see that she's pulled the machete from her belt. I contemplate pulling out the wrist rocket, and then change my mind as I draw the knives that we took from Ishmael's body, wincing as pain shoots through my injured shoulder. Here we were...three scared Tributes about to do battle with a monster, armed only with the simplest of weapons...even as the head of the mutt-snake reaches the next branch and it begins to coil around it as well -

\- and we all jump at the sound of a loud  _crack_  as the first branch, which had been barely strong enough to hold Husker's weight, suddenly breaks under the considerable weight of the monster that it had been supporting. We all watch as the body of the mutt swings back and forth a couple of times as it frantically tries to pull itself up to the second branch, until it, too, breaks off with a loud  _crack_ , causing the monster to crash heavily to the ground below.

I feel the tension flow out as relief washes over me. The three of us erupt in spontaneous relieved laughter as the mutt-snake hisses angrily below...and then we stop laughing just as abruptly as a hovercraft appears directly overhead and a claw descends to gently grapple with Evie's small, crushed body. We watch solemnly as the claw ascends back into the belly of the hovercraft, and I find myself lifting the three fingers of my left hand to my mouth, kissing them, and raising them up toward the hovercraft as it slowly moves off.

I wasn't the only one to salute Evie in this manner. Gamma and even Husker shared my salute to this girl that, only two days before, I had agreed to kill just as soon as the gong sounded. I'm infinitely glad now that I didn't. Evie had proved herself time and again in this nightmare arena, and it's not a stretch to say that I owe her my very life.

"Why didn't it eat her?" Husker asks, his voice thick with emotion.

"Probably programmed to kill only," I reply, my own vision dim with new tears. "After all, there wouldn't be anything to send home if it..." I let the rest go unsaid.

"Bye, kid," I hear Gamma whisper, and I realize that all three of us are grieving for the scared little Tribute from District Nine that, in the end, proved herself to be braver than any of us.

* * *

The disappearance of the mutt-snake, which had been crawling and hissing under our tree for some time following Evie's extraction from the arena, signaled the end of the hour. Husker and Gamma carefully lower me back to the ground and then both quickly follow, sliding down the rope until all three of us were back on the ground. We would be forced to leave the rope behind, secured as it was to our sanctuary in the tree. No matter. It had served its purpose.

Husker retrieves the spear from where the mutt-snake had dislodged it, and then quickly rejoines Gamma and I. "I say we stay in this wedge until morning," he says.

I nod my head as I hoist Evie's old pack to my left shoulder. "Agreed. It'll be quiet for the next eleven hours or so. But we need to move down to the tree line, closer to the beach."

Gamma looks up at me. "You thinkin' of the Feast?"

I nod again. "Yeah. We need food and medicine." As if on cue, my stomach rumbles and I rub my shoulder gingerly. "I just hope they're sending both."

Husker shrugs. "Only one way to find out," he says, turning toward the center of the arena...and the beach.

"Listen," I say suddenly. Husker and Gamma turn back toward me. "Before we go. I...that is to say, we...there's only five of us left. And I meant what I told you both, back in Training. I'm not gonna kill either one of you. I can't."

"I remember," Husker says quietly.

"So, tomorrow, after the Feast..." I hesitate. What I'm about to say will be painful. "Once we get our Feast pack, we divvy it up equal between us three...and then we split up and go solo the rest of the way."

Gamma and Husker both stare at me for a few moments, their faces impassive, before Gamma speaks up. "Sure. That makes sense."

Husker nods slowly. "Yeah. It does. Make sense, I mean."

I slowly let my breath out. "Okay. It's settled, then. Alright, let's head to the beach." I give the others a small grin. "Who knows, we just might be able to get some decent sleep."

"I'll take first watch tonight," Gamma quickly volunteers as we begin the long walk to the apex of the wedge. I don't argue. I just hope that the Feast isn't a bust.

I did wonder, though, about the looks that Gamma exchanged with Husker as we walked down towards the tree line to where we would be spending the rest of the night.

**PART VI**

_"Look what I found," Gamma's voice says as she hoists up a nylon mesh bag that had been left in the water just off the beach, and secured with a length of cord to a large piece of driftwood._

_Haymitch and Katniss are watching as what remained of the Non-Career Alliance set up camp just inside the tree line when the cord tied around the driftwood had caught Gamma's eye, and she had gone off to investigate._

_"Wonder what's in the bag?" Haymitch asks idly as he takes a pull from a small, silver flask that he's pulled from an inner jacket pocket._

_"The bag was Ishmael's," Finnick Odairs voice comes from behind Haymitch. "It's shellfish he found in the shallows. He stashed them there so he could pick 'em up later on."_

_Haymitch and Katniss both raise from their seats to greet their fellow Victor and Mentor. "What in Snow's name are you still hangin' 'round here for, Finn?" Haymitch asks the younger Mentor._

_"No sense in going back to the Training Center," Finnick explains. "I was set up with a...client...within thirty minutes of Ishmael's dying." Finnick glances at the large clock mounted prominently on the wall. "I meet her at the Main Games Betting Lounge in a half hour."_

_Haymitch glances quickly at Katniss, and sees her face cloud over for a split second before settling back into its usual impassive mask. Haymitch knows that, if Finnick was assigned a "client" so quickly after his Tribute was killed, that Katniss is sure to have a "client" of her own once Gamma is gone as well._

_"Sorry about your Tribute, Finn," Katniss says quietly, in an awkward attempt at changing the subject._

_Surprisingly, Finnick chuckles humorlessly. "Really, Katniss? I'm not. That boy never listened to a thing I told him. Not. One. Fucking. Thing. And he paid the price for it." Finnick pauses for a moment before snidely adding, "Besides, you and Haymitch already expressed your 'condolences.'"_

_Katniss's eyes narrow as she replies, "Fine. Forget it. I'm not sorry. So, fuck him...and fuck you, too, while I'm at it." With that, Katniss turns and abruptly stalks away._

_Finnick turns after the departing girl. "Katniss! Hey -" He takes a step in her direction but is stopped by Haymitch's hand on his shoulder._

_"Let her go, Finn," Haymitch says in a soft, but stern, voice._

_For a moment, Finnick glares angrily at the older Mentor, before his shoulders slump forward and he rubs a hand over his face._

_"Shit. You're right." Finnick sighs heavily. "I didn't mean to take it out on her."_

_"I know, boy," Haymitch replies quietly, then adds, "Listen. Go to your 'client.' But come on back when you're done. Most likely, Katniss will be back by then. You two can talk when you're both a little...mellower."_

_Finnick clasps the older man on the shoulder warmly. "Okay. And Haymitch?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"Thanks."_

_"Forget it, kid. Like I told Katniss earlier...you're one of the good ones."_

* * *

_Haymitch sits in the Station alone, having sent Effie off to get some sleep and Katniss, along with Finnick, off to get some dinner at one of the trendier Capitol restaurants, phoning Johanna and Cressida as well, inviting the two young women to join Katniss and Finnick for dinner._

Poor kid needs a few hours away...and they'll be able to eat in privacy at the "Bacchus Club," _Haymitch says to himself. He watches the screen in front of him as Peeta, Gamma, and Husker work at opening the shellfish that Ishmael had caught earlier, eating the contents raw. Suddenly Peeta stops and pulls a small object from the shell of the oyster that he had just opened and holds it up, rolling it between thumb and forefinger._

_The camera on Peeta zooms in, and Haymitch can see that the object is a small, grayish pearl. Peeta examines it carefully, smiling, before quickly rinsing it off in the gentle surf of the salt lake and then tucking it securely in Evie's old pack._

I hope he's able to give that to her, _Haymitch says to himself as he watches the trio finish off the remainder of the shellfish._

* * *

_Haymitch yawns hugely and looks at the digital clock next to the Main Holo Projection. Nearly midnight in the arena, and Husker has the watch. He's sitting close to Gamma, who had just lain down, and Haymitch can see the two talking, but so low that he can't make out what the two Tributes are saying. What needs no translation, though, is when Gamma rises up on one elbow, and Husker leans down to kiss her fully on her open mouth._

_Haymitch, wide awake by now, chuckles softly to himself as Husker and Gamma clutch desperately at each other, hungrily kissing as they fight with their clothing, while the whole time Peeta lays sleeping not two meters away. Haymitch smiles as the amorous couple succeed in removing enough clothing for what they each have in mind and begin to rhythmically, albeit clumsily, thrust against each other._

_Haymitch glances up as the Main Holo Projection flickers, and then begins to broadcast the scene between Gamma and Husker to the entire Trench. He shakes his head, laughing quietly the whole time, as the few Mentors left in the Trench at this hour...Cashmere, Brutus, and Cyrus...begin to loudly call out advice to the frantically coupling pair, both of whom are blissfully unaware of the fact that the relief of their sexual tensions are being broadcast throughout all Panem._

_Haymitch is so engrossed by the impromptu show that he doesn't hear the faint footsteps behind him until Katniss's voice cuts through the minor din in the Trench and penetrates his consciousness._

_"What the_ fuck _?"_

_Haymitch spins around in his chair in time to see Katniss staring at the Main Holo Projection with a look of pure fury on her face, her hands balled into tight fists. But, before Haymitch can say a word, a lighting bolt arcs down out of the clear, star speckled sky, striking a huge tree and signaling the beginning of an hour-long lightning storm, and, in the process, waking up Peeta, who sits bolt upright with a startled cry and, at the same time, causing Gamma and Husker to instantly disengage as the three Tributes watch the storm rage._

_Haymitch chuckles to himself softly, both at Katniss's reaction and at Gamma and Husker as well. "Nothing like getting cock-blocked by an artificial lightning storm,"_   _he mutters to himself._

_"I'm glad you're finding this so amusing," Katniss says crossly. Haymitch glances over at her, the relief on her face obvious as she realizes that the amorous couple is, in fact, Husker and Gamma._

_"So glad, Sweetheart, that you don't have a 'personal involvement' with either of our Tributes," Haymitch remarks dryly._

_In response, Katniss just shakes her head. "You're fucking impossible," she mutters. She's careful to hide her smile from the older Mentor as she speaks._

**PART VII**

I float, shivering in the pre-dawn water with my face barely exposed, watching Cornucopia Island for the first indication of a Feast Table. Playing a hunch, Husker, Gamma and I are just a few meters from the island, centered on the Cornucopia's open mouth. I hope we guessed right. If we didn't, we probably won't get another chance at today's Feast.

And my shoulder wound, as well as the wound on my face, is beginning to infect, in spite of the first aid that Evie had given me yesterday. If I don't get more medicine for both wounds I doubt if I'll be in any shape to fight for a Feast prize tomorrow morning.

Not that I'm doing all that great right now. My shoulder certainly isn't up for a straight-on fight, nor can I effectively wield my slingshot. My greatest value right now is to act as a lookout while Gamma makes a mad dash for the table while Husker covers her. I admit, it's not much of a plan, but it's all that we've got.

Off to my right, I see Gamma edge toward the island, with Husker right behind her. Gamma is clutching the machete while Husker has the spear in his right hand and his sickle in his left. I move back slightly in the water, trying to keep both of them in my field of view as well as watching the island for any signs of movement, either by Aurora or Lexus, or by the Feast Table rising into view.

An almost inaudible sound catches my attention and I carefully swivel my head to the left and watch as the Feast Table rises up directly in front of the Cornucopia.

"Psst! Psst!" I catch Gamma and Husker's attention and incline my head toward the table. They both nod slowly, once, and Gamma immediately tenses, ready to explode out of the water, with Husker covering her all the way.

I take one last glance all around and then turn back to my friends. "Go!" I practically whisper the word as Gamma and Husker lurch out of the water and onto Cornucopia Island. The table is a few scant meters from the waters edge. Three packs rest on the table. Unlike yesterday, the largest one is the one marked with the number "12."

Gamma stumbles and almost goes down, but quickly regains her footing. I see her reach the table and snatch up our pack, and almost simultaneously I see Husker hurl his spear as he shifts his sickle from his left to his right hand, and then turns and bellows one word at Gamma.

"Run!"

I can't stay in the water any longer. I have to help my Alliance...my friends! I grab onto the wet rocks and, gritting my teeth against the tearing pain in my shoulder, haul myself out of the water and onto the island. And, as I stumble to my feet, I can see that the Careers have laid an ambush for us.

Everything seems to unfold in front of me in slow motion. Husker stands with his back to Gamma, his sickle clenched firmly in his hand, even as Gamma spins to run back to the water with our pack. I can see Lexus charging toward Husker and Gamma, sword clenched in his hand... and then he skids to a stop, his free hand flashing to his belt as he draws and throws a knife in a single, smooth motion. I shout a warning to Husker but the knife was never aimed at him to begin with.

Gamma cries out in pain and stumbles as the knife suddenly flowers out of her right side, and then, by some miracle, manages to remain on her feet. In the meantime, Lexus and Husker have clashed, both Tributes cutting savagely at each other...Lexus with his sword, Husker with his sickle...neither gaining an immediate advantage over the other.

Gamma reaches me; groaning in pain, blood bubbling out of her nose and mouth with every breath. My first instinct is to grab the knife sticking out of her side and pull it out, but she grips my hand with surprising strength, stopping me.

"Don't," she gasps out between clenched teeth. "Hurts...too bad." She coughs, spraying me with a fine bloody mist.

I nod, once. "Into the water," I mutter softly and ease her as gently as I can into the salt lake, causing her to cry out once more as the salt water hits her wound. But, in spite of the pain that she must be in, she never releases her grip on the pack.

I turn back toward Husker, both to help him and to see if I can, somehow, locate Aurora. I pull both knives from the back of my belt, my right shoulder screaming in pain, and I'm just in time to see Lexus hack viciously at Husker, driving the point of his sword deep into Husker's groin.

"Oh, shit," is all I can mutter as I watch, horrified, while Husker screams out in agony as his leg gives out beneath him. I shift the knife in my left hand to a throwing position, all the while silently thanking the Goat Man for insisting that I learn to throw with my weak hand. Lexus is occupied with Husker and is paying no attention to me...but Husker's in the way.

"Come on, Husker, come on," I mutter. " _Move_!" I see Lexus jerk the sword out of Husker's groin in a single, cruel motion, as he grins down at the wounded Tribute, and I realize with revulsion that he's playing it up for the cameras. What I don't realize at the time was the fact that Husker was playing it up as well.

I quickly glance behind me and see Gamma weakly paddling away from the island, leaving a trail of blood in the water, her flotation belt the only thing keeping her above water. When I turn back to Lexus and Husker I see Lexus slowly, almost casually, raise his sword to deliver the final deathblow to Husker. And I still don't have a clear shot at Lexus with my knife.

But, even as Lexus cocks his arm back to strike, Husker lurches upright and, with a strangled cry, whips his right arm up and around, the point of the sickle catching Lexus in the side of his throat. Lexus gags as the sickle rips his throat half away, his sword clattering to the rocks before bouncing into the salt lake. He sinks to his knees, his eyes wide, his hands clutching his throat as blood pumps out of him, before collapsing face down on the rocks.

A cannon fires, signaling the death of Lexus. Husker turns to me, a weak, but triumphant, grin on his bloodied face. "Hey," he says weakly. "How about a little help here?"

"Coming up!" I reply, and take a single step toward my friend, when I see his eyes widen in sudden surprise and I watch him tumble, face down in the rocks, an arrow jutting from the back of his head.

I'm diving for cover even as the cannon fires again and I feel fire blossom in my left calf as I hit the rocks clumsily, skinning knees, elbows and hands, but somehow managing to hold onto both knives. I gasp in pain as I roll over and groan aloud when I see the arrow sticking out of my left calf.

"Shit," I spit out through teeth clenched in pain. There's too much blood! I know that her arrow must have nicked an artery. Already I'm feeling light headed. I hear the sounds of someone moving over the rocks, coming toward me slowly, cautiously. Through a fog of pain I rise up slightly, catching a glimpse of Aurora Chamberlain just meters away. She sees me at the same time and snap shoots, barely missing me as I drop back down.

I have one chance at this. I rise up again just as she's nocking another arrow to her bow, cock both arms back, and throw.

Aurora instinctively raises her bow up as my knives come spinning toward her. The throws weren't good ones. But, as luck would have it, both knives gave me the chance that I need to get away.

One buries itself in the fleshy part of her left thigh, causing a wound similar to my shoulder wound...painful, but superficial...causing her to cry out. But the other one...the one that Aurora raised her bow up to deflect...manages to do the impossible.

The blade neatly severs her bowstring.

Those knives give me the time I need to get away. I don't hesitate. I roll into the water, crying out as the salt water burns my wounds, and push off with my good leg, even as I strip the makeshift bandages off my shoulder and knot them tightly just below my left knee, and then I insert the slingshot under the tourniquet and twist until the blood ceases to flow out of my leg.

Weakly, I paddle toward Gamma. She's barely moving, a large red stain surrounding her as she struggles to keep her head above water. I'm not moving very quickly myself, only able to kick with my right leg and paddle with my left arm, but I catch up with Gamma just as Aurora manages to lurch to the water's edge, screaming obscenities at us as we make our slow getaway from Cornucopia Island.

"Motherfuckers! You're fucking  _dead_!" Aurora snatches up a rock and hurls it at Gamma and I, missing us by several meters. I almost laughed aloud at her threat.  _You're almost right, Aurora,_  I say to myself as I continue to slowly kick away from the island, my right arm draped around Gamma as I awkwardly pull her with me.  _We're more dead than alive right now._

I flinch as a knife sails just over my head, landing in the water with a splash. I glance back at Aurora and realize that she had just thrown the same knife that I had embedded in her leg minutes before...or, at least, its twin. At any rate, my knife was no longer in her leg, and she had taken a page from my first aid book and had cut off one of her sleeves and knotted it around her thigh.

Gamma lets out a soft scream as I accidentally brush against the knife jutting from her side. "Sorry. Sorry," I gasp, as I continue to pull her toward the beach. I glance back at the island. Aurora is nowhere in sight. I just hope that she's not following us. If she is, there's no way I'll be able to put up any kind of fight...not in the shape I'm in now.

* * *

It seems like forever before my right foot makes contact with soft sand under the water and I weakly manage to drag Gamma and myself onto the beach. Gamma's eyes are closed, her face pasty white, but I know she's still alive...her blood continues to bubble out of her nose and mouth.

I pull the pack...our Feast prize...out of her hands and open it. Packages of food, a new container of that wonderful medicine that I had used on my head and hand before... _was_   _that really only yesterday? It seems like a lifetime ago_...real bandages, and even some foil packets of water.

I fumble with one of the packets of water, ripping it open and taking a couple of swallows before splashing a little on Gamma's face, trying vainly to wash some of the blood away. As my trembling fingers brush over her nose and mouth, I see her eyelids flutter, and then open, her eyes staring into my own.

"Here," I whisper, holding the packet to her lips. I trickle a little water into her mouth. She swallows, then coughs, spraying me with a mist of water and blood, and then puts her hand over my own and pulls the water packet from her mouth.

"Don't bother, Townie," she gasps softly. "Don't waste it. Not on the dead."

"Shut up!" I hiss. "You're not dead." I hold up a bandage and the medicine container. "See? I'll get you fixed up and -"

Gamma laughs weakly. "Snow's Beard, Townie, you ain't that fuckin' stupid. It's the  _Games_ , dumb shit! Only one winner, remember?"

"Yeah," I say through gritted teeth as a spasm of pain rips through my leg. I glance down quickly at the arrow protruding from my calf. The bleeding's stopped. I reach down and, with shaking fingers, touch my lower leg. It's cold to my touch.

"She got you, huh?" Gamma asks weakly. I nod tightly, my lips pressed tightly together.

"My leg," I gasp out.

Suddenly Gamma lifts her head up off the sand and looks around, her eyes shifting from side to side. She lets her head fall back to the sand and looks up at me, and then says one word.

"Husker?"

I shake my head. "No."

Gamma closes her eyes tightly, and a single tear rolls out from under each eyelid. "Fuck," she whispers. Her eyes open again. "We did it last night."

I frown. "Huh? Did what?"

Gamma lets out another weak laugh, and then coughs again, her lips and chin covered in blood. "What do you think? Had sex. While you were sleeping."

"Oh," is all I can think of saying. For some reason I'm suddenly embarrassed.

Gamma shakes her head slightly. "Don't get the wrong idea," she mutters weakly. "It was our first time. We...we both wanted to know what it was like, before -"

"Shut up!" I whisper fiercely. "Don't say it!"

"I'm scared, Townie," Gamma says suddenly, her eyes brimming with tears. "It hurts, and I'm scared, and  _why_  couldn't it have been  _quick_?"

"I know," I say lamely. I wet my fingers with a little water and try to wipe the blood off of her face.

Gamma grabs my hand in her own. "You're scared too. I can tell. But  _she's_  more scared than you."

"Yeah," I admit. "I'm scared." I wince as another spasm of pain shoots through me. "Oh,  _shit_ ," I groan.

"You can't," Gamma whispers.

"Can't...what?" I gasp out as the spasm subsides.

"Die. You can't die. Not like...not like me."

"You aren't...gonna die," I manage to say.

"You're startin' to piss me off, Townie," Gamma murmurs with a shake of her head, as her hand grips mine tighter. "I don't wanna die alone," she whispers suddenly. "Stay with me...please."

"I..." I pause for a moment, squeezing my eyes shut, trying, and failing, to stop my tears. "I'm right here," I whisper. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You're such a dumb shit," she whispers. "Volunteering the way you did." Gamma shakes her head slightly. "You got it, though."

"Got what?" I ask softly.

"What you came here for," Gamma replies, squeezing my hand. "Vindication. Ain't no one can fault you for anything." She coughs again, suddenly. "Not now. Not ever."

"I wish I knew you before," I blurt out.

Gamma laughs again, more weakly than before. "No one wants to know Community Home girls...'cept maybe to take out to the slag heap."

"You're better than that!" I hiss.

"You mean that," Gamma says. "You do. I can tell." Her eyes flutter closed again and, for a moment, I feel a stab of fear that she's gone, until she coughs weakly and her eyes open again.

"It weren't all that great," she whispers.

I shake my head. "What -"

"Sex," she explains. "Husker 'n me. We just...you know?"

I manage to smile at her. "Yeah. I know."

"Don't get me wrong," she says weakly. "You...you're a nice lookin' boy. But you've got your heart on someone else. Not me."

I feel another flush of embarrassment. "Maybe."

"Don't try to bullshit me," she whispers sternly. "You can't, remember?" Gamma pauses for a moment. "Hey. It don't hurt no more."

I squeeze her hand. "Maybe that's a good thing," I softly say.

"I want you to promise me something," she whispers.

"What?" She turns her head slightly and fixes my eyes with her own.

"I like daisies," she continues softly. "And I want you to come see me every now and then."

"Gamma -" I choke out.

"Promise me," she whispers fiercely. "Promise!"

Her eyes are shining brightly as she stares into mine. "I promise," I manage to say.

She slowly turns her head away and looks up toward the sky. "Thank you...Peeta."

I brush a strand of hair away from her eyes. "Anytime," I whisper. I feel myself choke up again. This is the first time she's ever called me by my name.

Suddenly her hand tightens on mine. "Where are you, Peeta? I can't see you!"

I grip her hand and pull myself up until my face is hovering over hers. "I'm right here," I say soothingly. "I'm right here."

"Where?" There's panic in her voice now. "I can't see you! And why do you sound so far away?"

"Hey," I murmur. "I'm here, Gamma. Right here with you. Can you hear me?"

Gamma's face suddenly creases in a frown as her unfocused eyes stare into my face. "I smell bread."

"What?" I ask in confusion.

She doesn't answer me. Because she can't.

A cannon fires.

Her grip on my hand loosens.

And I weep unashamedly.

**PART VIII**

_Katniss sits, numbly staring at the Holo projection, watching as the claw from the hovercraft descends to neatly scoop up Gamma's lifeless body. Haymitch stands behind her, one hand on her shoulder. As the claw rises from the beach, Haymitch gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze._

_"Tell me this gets easier," Katniss whispers._

_Haymitch shakes his head slowly. "I can't."_

_The Trench is almost completely deserted now. Only Katniss, Haymitch, and Cashmere remain. Cashmere slowly rises from her chair and walks over to the District Twelve Station._

_"Hey," she says softly. Katniss glances up at the older woman. "It's tough. I know. Just...just hang in there. You'll be okay."_

_Katniss nods slowly. "Thanks," she mutters._

_"Yeah," Cashmere replies awkwardly. "Well...I have to...I'll see you later."_

_Katniss and Haymitch watch Cashmere walk quickly back to her Station. "Sometimes," Haymitch murmurs, "she almost seems human."_

_"Excuse me," a quiet voice says from the entrance to the District Twelve Station. "Miss Everdeen?"_

_Haymitch and Katniss both turn toward the voice, and see a young Games Page standing there nervously, holding a small, folded card in one hand. The Page thrusts the card toward Katniss._

_"Message for you, Miss Everdeen," the Page mumbles. Katniss takes the card and watches as the Page hurries out of the Trench._

_Wordlessly Katniss turns back to the Main Holo Projection, where Peeta is clumsily applying the healing ointment to his shoulder wound and his face. Expressionless, she watches as the Tribute manages to wrap a bandage around his shoulder, tying it off with his teeth and his free hand. He then carefully daubs some healing ointment around the arrow wound in his leg, wincing slightly as he works, and then picks up a knife...the same knife that had killed Gamma...and, grabbing the arrow as close to his skin as possible, begins to saw at it with the serrated edge of the knife._

_In spite of the tightness of the tourniquet on his leg, it's obviously very painful work. Peeta has to stop sawing every few strokes, gasping with the pain. It takes him a good twenty minutes to cut through the shaft of the arrow, leaving a stump protruding about a centimeter in length. By the time he's done, Peeta is ashen faced and perspiring heavily, and is trembling with pain and exertion._

_Haymitch watches, along with Katniss, as Peeta works. "I'll say this for the kid," Haymitch murmurs at one point, "he's got some balls."_

_"He had to do it," Katniss says softly, her voice catching. "He couldn't leave the shaft sticking out like it was."_

_But Peeta wasn't through. After resting for a few minutes, he carefully bandages the arrow wound, tying the bandage tightly to his leg, and then loosens the tourniquet enough to remove the slingshot, quickly inserting a short stick in its place, twisting and tightening the tourniquet before quickly re-tying it._

_Peeta rests for a few minutes once more, before carefully hauling himself to his feet and testing out his injured leg. Wincing and gritting his teeth with the pain, he finds that he's able to awkwardly limp, as long as he doesn't try to move too quickly. Apparently satisfied, he bends over the Feast pack, removing two water packets and a single food packet, and then, sliding the knife into his belt, limps off into the tree line._

_Once hidden by the trees, Peeta crawls into a thick, tightly packed growth at the base of a large tree, eats the contents of the food packet, drinks one of the water packets, and then carefully daubs mud over as much exposed skin as he could, before settling back against the trunk of the tree and falling into an exhausted sleep._

_"Where's Aurora?" Haymitch asks as the camera cuts from Peeta to his adversary, also huddled on a stretch of beach, tending to her wounds, but without the benefit of Peeta's first aid supplies. Haymitch notes grimly that a spare bowstring had been included in the District One Feast Pack. Aurora's newly re-strung bow lay on the sand within easy arm's reach._

_Katniss squints at the monitor, where only two pips are still active. "Peeta's here," she says, tapping the screen. Haymitch notes with satisfaction that Aurora is five wedges away from Peeta. He glances up at the Main Holo Projection and watches as Aurora retreats back into the tree line and hides, mirroring Peeta's actions but without camouflaging herself in mud._

_Katniss glances down at the card clenched in her hand before opening and reading it, and then slowly rising to her feet. "I have to go for a bit," she explains in a soft, flat voice._

_Haymitch nods. "I know. Don't worry. Those two are exhausted and hurt. They'll probably sleep for a while."_

_Katniss nods, turns, then stops and turns back to Haymitch, whose attention was once again on the bank of monitors to his front. "Haymitch."_

_Haymitch swivels his head around at the sound of his name. "Yes, Sweetheart?"_

_Katniss hesitates for a moment before speaking. "Nothing. Sorry." She abruptly turns away as if to leave...but continues to stand in the same place._

_"I'll see you in a bit," Haymitch says softly._

_"Okay," Katniss replies in a choked voice, and then adds, "Haymitch? Thank you."_

_"Any time, Sweetheart. Any time."_

* * *

_Katniss pauses outside the door of the exclusive penthouse apartment, glancing once again at the card clenched in her fist._

702 Coliseum Boulevard

Apartment P-1

Door Code is 2807

Go to bedroom at the end of the hall

Follow directions on the bed

_Katniss punches in the door code and hears the lock unlatch. She quickly opens the door and slips into the room, letting the door close behind her automatically. She looks around the plush penthouse. It appears empty, but she's sure that her "client" is somewhere waiting for her._

_Katniss takes a deep breath and walks through the beautifully decorated living room and into the hallway, following the hallway to the door at the very end of the hall. The door Is open. Katniss steps into the room._

_An enormous circular bed dominateS the room. On the plush maroon bedspread Is another card. Katniss walks to the bed, picks the card up, and reads:_

Strip naked.

Lie on the bed face up.

Spread your legs wide.

Finger yourself.

_Katniss can feel the heat rising in her face as she reads the card. Masturbation was something that, prior to her Games, she had only done a few times...rarely having enough privacy in her old small Seam house. And, to her conservative Seam morals, pleasuring oneself was something that was somehow embarrassing...even shameful. Thankfully, none of her previous "clients" had ever requested this._

_Until now._

_Katniss quickly sheds her clothing and lays back on the plush bed, spreading her legs wide as instructed, and shyly rubs her middle finger over her outer lips and the sensitive button at the top of her crease. She can feel herself blushing furiously as she masturbates clumsily, while at the same time running the list of "tricks" that Cashmere had shared with her for finishing off a "client" as quickly as possible._

It's for Prim _, she tells herself over and over._ For Prim.

_"Your nipples," a familiar male voice says. "Wet your finger and play with your nipples."_

_Finally. Katniss turns her head toward the voice and slowly extends her tongue, sensuously licking her fingers before sliding her hands down to her pert, firm breasts. She circles each dark nipple with her middle finger, and then pinches each budding nub gently in turn._

_"Like this?" She whispers softly._

_"Yessss," the voice hisses. Katniss smiles to herself. Yes. He sounds aroused. Maybe, just maybe, this will be over quickly._

_Katniss closes her eyes and moans softly. In spite of herself, she can feel her inner lips becoming wet and the small, sensitive button...Cashmere had called it her "clit"...swelling with desire. Katniss shakes her head slightly. Becoming wet was a good thing...it hurt much less if she was lubricated...but the growing arousal was not._

I just watched my Tribute die a slow, painful, horrible death,  _she reminds herself._ I don't deserve to feel pleasure. Not with Gamma dead.

_Katniss's thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a door sliding open. She opens her eyes and turns toward the sound. A slender man is standing in the room, two steps from the bed, totally naked, his organ fully erect and curving up toward his abdomen. Katniss's eyes trail up his body to his face...and her eyes go wide as she gasps in recognition. The man smiles down at her, his dark eyes twinkling, his teeth white against the blackness of his intricately sculpted beard._

_"Hello, Katniss," Seneca Crane says, as he grips his pulsing shaft and strokes gently._

* * *

_For a moment, surprise renders Katniss speechless, as she unconsciously clamps her legs together and covers her breasts with her arms._ Why him?  _She says to herself._ Why now?

_"Seneca Crane?" Katniss finally manages to choke out._

_"In the flesh...in a manner of speaking," Seneca Crane replies with a smirk, before adding, "and please do resume your earlier...activities, Katniss."_

_Katniss stares at the Head Gamemaker, her mind racing._ This isn't chance. There has to be a reason why I've been set up with him!

_Seneca's smile slowly fades as Katniss continues to cover herself. "Katniss, that was not a request. That was an order. Now, I'll say it once more...spread your legs and play with yourself!"_

_Her facing burning with shame, Katniss slowly complies, moving her thighs apart slowly and dropping her arms away from her chest. She immediately resumes masturbating, working her fingers in and around her pubis while at the same time trying to keep at least that part of her covered as much as possible._

_The grin returns to Seneca's face as he steps to the bed, gripping his erect organ in one hand. "That's it. Much better. And don't you look positively delicious!"_

_"Thank you, Seneca," Katniss replies coyly._ I have to please him. I have to do whatever he wants. For Prim.  _"You...you look very...appetizing...yourself."_

_To her surprise, Seneca barks out a short, humorless laugh. "Oh, please, Katniss! Drop the whore act. You are far from convincing. I'm not some old pathetic man like Cassius Hammersmith, nor a closet sadist like Bacchus Brandywine. And you can forget about making me come quickly. I have superb control. Besides, that's not why you're here."_

_"Why am I here, then?" Katniss asks in a small voice._

_Seneca kneels on the bed next to Katniss and guides his erect manhood to one thigh, slowly rubbing it against her leg, across her flat belly, and over the curve of one breast, smiling as he feels her nipple involuntarily spring erect against the taut skin of his shaft._

_"I actually got the idea yesterday," Seneca explains. "When Haymitch Abernathy came to me, pleading that I intercede on behalf of Peeta Mellark."_

_Katniss suppresses a shudder of revulsion at the feel of Seneca's organ rubbing against her body only by a supreme act of will. "I don't understand," she replies truthfully._

_"Mellark used the force field as a weapon yesterday," Seneca continues. "President Snow frowns on that sort of thing. You see, twenty-five years ago, Abernathy used the force field in his Games to kill the last remaining Tribute that opposed him. The President felt that weaponizing part of the arena made the Capitol, and by extension the office of President, look foolish. Coincidentally, Haymitch Abernathy's mother, brother, and girlfriend all died within weeks of his return to District Twelve." Seneca pauses to run the head of his erect shaft across Katniss's face. "Do you follow me so far?"_

_Katniss closes her eyes for a moment and pretends that Seneca's organ is not what she feels bumping against her lips. She lets his words sink in as the realization of what Peeta has potentially done dawns in her mind._

_"Yes," Katniss says, turning her head slightly, away from the intruding erection._ Don't throw up! Not now! _"Haymitch is afraid that Peeta's family will suffer because of what he did."_

_"Precisely," Seneca replies, as his hand slips between Katniss's thighs and he begins to slowly, expertly manipulate her. "Of course, Mellark will still have to win...and Aurora Chamberlain is a formidable opponent. But Abernathy was, of course, being a good Mentor and anticipating what may happen. And I, as Head Gamemaker, have an obligation to work with the Mentors. And that's what planted the seed of why you're here today."_

_Katniss bites her lip as Seneca works a finger inside her. "Haymitch did this," she replies flatly._

_"Not exactly," Seneca continues. "But, you see, Katniss...I've wanted to do something like this to you for over a year. Ever since you shot the apple out of that pig's mouth. You see, you made me look foolish, and I've worked for too long and too hard to have some lower district sixteen-year-old cannon-bait Tribute ruin everything for me." Seneca slides his finger out of Katniss and eases it lower, rubbing it against her anus, causing Katniss to flinch away. Seneca chuckles at her reaction. "President Snow was not happy with your Training Score last year. I was close to being relieved of my duties as Head Gamemaker. And that would have been bad. Very bad. So, the way I figure it, you owe me."_

_Katniss takes a deep breath. "What do you want me to do?"_

_Seneca doesn't reply right away, but instead opens a drawer on the nightstand next to the bed and removes a small tube. He carefully squirts a line of gel down the length of his shaft. "Rub that lube into my cock," he commands._

_Katniss reaches over with one trembling hand and slowly, carefully, spreads the gel-like lube over the length of the Head Gamemakers phallus. Seneca closes his eyes and groans softly at the feel of her fingers._

_"It is my prerogative, after all, to sample whatever Victor I choose," Seneca says. "Assuming, of course, that they are, shall we say, 'receptive' to President Snow's generous offer of...gainful employment. But this is the first time I've used that right. And the President was most accommodating when I made inquiries yesterday. His only stipulation was that your Tribute must have died before I...use you."_

_Katniss shudders at his words. "What do you mean, 'use me?'"_

_"Roll over on your stomach, girl," Seneca commands. "You are, I take it, familiar with dog style?"_

_Katniss does as he commands, rolling onto her belly and kneeling up, spreading her legs wide. "Yes," she whispers._ Oh please, please let this be done with quickly.

_"So lovely," Seneca whispers as he kneels behind Katniss. He runs a hand over her buttocks, gently squeezing and kneading the firm flesh. "Reach back and grab your ass with both hands, Katniss. Grab your ass and pull your cheeks apart."_

_Blushing, Katniss complies. She squeezes her eyes shut as she feels the engorged head contact her anus. "Have you ever been used like this before?" Seneca breathes._

_"No," Katniss lies._ It's better if he thinks he's the first. Maybe that will excite him enough to finish quickly _. In response Seneca pushes forward, burying his length in a single long, slow thrust, smiling as Katniss groans in pain as Seneca fills her._

_"Good," Seneca sneers as he begins to thrust his pulsing manhood in and out of Katniss's tortured body. "Relax, my little Seam bitch. It's time that I get a little payback."_

_Katniss focuses on a single thought for the next half hour._

For Peeta. For Peeta. For Peeta.

* * *

_Haymitch glances up at the sound of Katniss's footsteps approaching and spins around in his chair._

_"Hey, Sweetheart," he begins. "Nothing new here. Peeta's still sleep -"_

_The sound of Katniss's palm meeting Haymitch's face echoes throughout the Trench. "You despicable son of a bitch! You fucking whoremonger! I hate you! I HATE YOU!"_

_Haymitch sits, stunned by the attack and outburst. He glances quickly at Effie, now sitting at her console, a pleading look on his face._

_Effie catches Haymitch's look instantly. She springs to her feet and gently lays one hand on Katniss's arm. "Katniss," she says softly, but firmly, "come along with me, dear." Effie turns to Haymitch as she cradles the now-weeping Katniss protectively in one arm. "We'll be back in a bit, Haymitch. If you need me we'll be in the lounge."_

_Haymitch nods and watches Effie lead Katniss out of the Trench. Once they were out of sight he turns back to the monitors, rubbing his face thoughtfully._

_"I swear," he mutters, "I swear I didn't do anything!"_

**PART IX**

With effort, I drag the last large log over to the mound of wood and, grunting with exertion, I toss it on top. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing my head to stop spinning, and awkwardly sink to the ground. Once on the ground, I pull the small knife out of Evie's old pack and unscrew the hilt, shaking the flint out of the handle. I haven't needed a fire here until just now. Only this fire isn't for cooking, or warmth. This fire will be a signal fire.

A signal fire for Aurora Chamberlain.

I repeatedly strike the knife against the flint until a spark catches in the mound of wood shavings. I lean over and blow gently, grinning slightly as the spark catches and the tinder flares up. I quickly transfer the now-blazing tinder to the bonfire, placing it carefully in the center of the mound of wood, carefully adding more and more dried twigs to the tinder until it's blazing merrily on its' own.

As the fire catches and the larger wood begins to burn, I pull myself to my feet, fighting off a wave of nausea. The pain in my left leg has evolved into a dull, throbbing ache, and the leg itself feels like a lump of wood.

This has to work. Aurora needs to see this as the invitation that it is. The Games need to end here, today...one way or another. Because I'm sick. And I would rather die fighting than slowly waste away from infection or blood poisoning.

The wood is wet and doesn't blaze up easily. What it does do is send up clouds of thick, grayish smoke. There won't be a single place in the arena where that smoke won't be visible. I just hope that Aurora is as eager to end this as I am.

In spite of the heat of the day I'm shivering as badly as if I were caught outside during a District Twelve midwinter blizzard. I touch my fingers to my face. My skin is hot and dry.

_Fever,_  I say to myself. I'm tired...so tired. I just want to lie down and sleep. But I don't dare. If I lie down I know I won't be able to get back up again. I limp around awkwardly, trying to keep my leg from stiffening up. I check and recheck my weapons...the knife I took from Gamma's body, her machete, and my slingshot. And I wait.

My fire is blazing merrily now, sending up tongues of flame higher than I am tall. I toss some more greenery onto the blaze, sending up even more thick, gray smoke.  _Come on,_  I say to myself.  _Where are you, Aurora?_

"Hey." I practically jump out of my skin with surprise at the sound of Aurora's soft voice behind me. I can feel my heart racing as I slowly turn, expecting at any second to feel the fire of a knife or a spear enter me...but there's nothing except the myriad pains that I've almost become accustomed to.

Aurora is standing not five meters away, her bow clenched in her left hand, an arrow nocked to an undamaged bowstring.  _She had a spare_ , I say to myself.  _I should have known._

"Hey," I manage to croak. I examine her carefully. She has a crude bandage knotted around her left thigh. It's soaked through with blood and, judging from the tracks in the sand, she's limping pretty badly. Other than that, she looks to be in much better shape than I am.

Aurora points to the fire. "Is that for me?"

I nod. "Yeah." I then add, "Why didn't you just shoot me in the back?"

Aurora gives me a disgusted look. "That's something lower district cannon-bait would do. Unlike you, I have honor." She nods to her bow. "It's more...sporting...this way."

I shake my head sadly. "Sporting? You act like this is a game. It's not. It's killing for entertainment."

Aurora laughs. "Oh, you stupid, naive boy. It  _is_  a game. The Hunger  _Games_ , remember? And, in a few minutes, I'll be the Victor."

I nervously palm the steel ball in my right hand and slowly turn my left hand so the sling on my wrist rocket hangs free. I'll get one chance for a good shot. One. But I have to distract her somehow.

"Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you, Aurora?" I ask. "I mean, I'm still standing here...alive. Pretty sure there has to be one more cannon fire before you can call yourself a Victor."

"I'll admit it. You've fought well." Aurora straightens up slightly. "You're a credit to that shithole district that you're from. But you're no Victor."

"And you are?" I ask sarcastically.

"Yes!" Aurora replies emphatically. "I believe in Panem. I believe in the Hunger Games. I believe in keeping a hard-fought peace." Aurora turns slightly and actually strikes a pose. "And only those that truly believe are deserving of the title of Victor."

I shake my head sadly. Aurora is breathing heavily, her face flushed with emotion. I'm sure she is imagining the cheering ass-kissers back in District One just clinging to every word.

"Oh, Aurora," I say softly. "You aren't a hero. You're a psychopathic bitch. I feel sorry for you. I really do."

Aurora's face reddens with rage as her right hand twitches toward her bowstring. "Fuck you!" She bellows. "Go straight to hell!"

"You first!" I spit. I load the steel ball in the sling, pulling the elastic back as I raise the slingshot. I can see Aurora grinning in triumph, her bow rising up, the arrow drawn back, and I realize then that  _I'm too slow!_

No time.  _No time!_  I release the sling with the wrist rocket only at chest level, literally shooting blindly even as Aurora releases the bowstring as she lurches to her left. It wasn't her best shot. The arrow strikes me in my upper left chest with tremendous force, knocking me back. I fall to the ground heavily, the pink sky whirling madly above me as I hit the sand. I hear someone scream in pain and I realize that it's me.

I lay flat on my back, gasping, blood bubbling up from my nose and mouth.  _Just like Gamma,_  I say to myself as I'm wracked with a spasm of coughing. I'm having trouble breathing.  _My lung. It got my lung._

I resist the urge to close my eyes.  _What's she waiting for? Do it! Finish me!_  I don't understand why Aurora hasn't killed me yet. With tremendous effort, I raise my head off the sand, and, to my surprise, I see Aurora, flat on her back, legs and arms outstretched, unmoving.

My head thumps back to the sand as weak laughter bubbles up inside me.  _It's finally happened,_  I say to myself.  _The final two have killed each other. They don't get their Victor this year, those fucking bastards!_

But even as those thoughts race through my mind, I know that it isn't true. I'm not dead yet, and neither is Aurora. I'm sure that a medical hovercraft is somewhere very near, ready to swoop in the instant the final cannon fires. And the chances of us both dying simultaneously are practically none. It's not as if we are deliberately committing suicide, after all.

I lift my head back up again. Aurora still hasn't moved. But I can. Slowly, painfully, I roll onto my right side. My left arm is hanging at my side, virtually useless. I cough again, spraying bloody saliva over the clean white sand, as I begin to crawl toward Aurora using only my right leg and arm. Only a few meters separate us but it seems to take forever.

Somehow I manage to rise up as I fumble for my knife, drawing it out of my belt, dropping it twice before I manage to wrap my fingers around the handle. Aurora's face is deathly white, clear fluid seeping out of her nose and ears, and I can see a dent...an actual dent...in her forehead, where my steel ball must have struck her.

_How? How did I manage to hit her?_  She's still breathing...raggedly and shallowly...but she's still alive. Her throat. I have to slit her throat. Clumsily I push her head to one side, exposing the pulsing vein in the side of her throat. One push. One push, and it'll be done.

Then her eyes open.

I freeze as her eyes stare impassively up into mine. She frowns slightly as her unfocused gaze gradually becomes focused. Suddenly her body shudders and she gasps, and then relaxes once more.

"Do it," she whispers.

I nod once, placing the point of my knife over the pulsing vein. "I don't hate you," I whisper.

She swallows once and licks her dry lips. "I know."

"Close your eyes," I choke out. Aurora doesn't answer, but her eyes flutter closed.

"I'm sorry," I whisper as my own eyes clench shut, and I push down firmly.

Aurora gives a small, gagging whimper and I feel the warmth of her blood spurt over my hand. I pull the knife from her throat and open my eyes. Aurora thrashes violently under me, and then her entire body stiffens, and finally relaxes. I look at her face. Her features have softened in death. It looks like she's asleep.

I try to sit up as I dimly hear the final cannon blast. I drop the knife into the sand as my head spins wildly. Somewhere, from a place that seems very far away, I can hear a trumpet fanfare blaring out.

_It's over? Who won?_  My brow furrows in confusion and I glance around, looking for the winner, then a voice begins to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the Victor of the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games -"

Then, as the beach rises up and hits me, one final thought races through my head as consciousness slips away from me.

_Who won?_


	19. CHAPTER 19

**BOOK VII - AFFIRMATION**

**Affirmation - Emotional Support or Encouragement**

**CHAPTER 19**

**PART I**

_Holy shit. That poor guy._

This thought, and others like it, run through my head as I watch a medical team work feverishly on the supine body of a young man laid out on a gurney. I'm aware that I'm in a medical hovercraft...but  _why_  am I here? And  _why_  am I viewing everything from above? From my perspective, I'm a good two meters or so  _above_  everyone! And, most importantly... _who_  is that guy?

I can hear snatches of conversation from the medics as they work on the guy on the gurney..."no, leave the arrow in, let the docs worry about it at Victor's Mercy. Just seal up the wound. He's got one collapsed lung already. He'll be fucked if we lose the other...", and "...that's right. Five percent saline IV drip. Broad spectrum antibiotic. Leave the tourniquet in place...", and "...shit, he can't breathe! Trach tray, stat! If we lose him we're  _all_ fucked..."

I watch, nothing more than an interested observer, for a couple more minutes, until a voice at my elbow causes me to turn around.

"Hey," the voice says.

A young guy, maybe a year or two older than I am, has joined me. I look at him closely and realize that I know him. "Gale? Gale Hawthorne? Why are  _you_  here?"

"You can't stay here, Mellark," Gale says conversationally. "You gotta go back."

I look at him in confusion. "Go back? Go back where?"

Gale chuckles. I realize that he's wearing the exact same clothing that he wore the day that he was Reaped...and I wonder what made me think of that.

"Oh, come  _on_ , Mellark," Gale says. "You aren't stupid! Look down there at the guy on the gurney!"

"Wait a minute," I say as I stare at Gale. "You're dead."

Gale shakes his head sadly. " _Now_  he gets it!" Gale turns away from me as if he's looking at someone behind him. But behind him is the hovercraft bulkhead. " _You_  tell him. He ain't listening to me."

"Townie, you gotta go back. You can't stay here." Gamma appears to my left, opposite of where Gale is. "It ain't your time."

"Gamma," I whisper. "You can't be here. I was with you when -"

"You were," Gamma says gently. "And I ain't gonna forget that, either. But you gotta go back."

Confused, I glance back down at the body on the gurney, where the medics are still frantically working. Suddenly, the body jerks spasmodically and the rhythmic beeping sound that I had been hearing changes to a single, piercing tone.

"He's arresting!" A medic tears open the shirt...it appears to be part of a coverall...as another opens a case and grabs two metal paddles, while a third squirts some sort of liquid gel on the paddles.

"Charging!" The medic with the paddles watches a gauge and rubs the paddles together. "One hundred twenty joules! Clear!"

Everyone working on the body suddenly steps back as the medic presses the paddles to the chest of the man on the gurney. I watch as the body arches up, and then collapses back down on the gurney again.

The piercing tone continues. "One hundred fifty joules! Charged!" The medic places the paddles on the chest again. "Clear!"

The body jerks again. The tone remains unchanged. "Shit! Two hundred! Charging!" A medic watches a gauge as the medic with the paddles squirts more gel on them and rubs them together. "Charged!"

"Clear!" The body jerks again, and the single piercing tone changes back into the soothing, rhythmic beeping.

"Snow's Roses, that was too fuckin' close," the medic with the paddles says.

"Tell me about it," another medic says, before adding, "Hey, who wants to be the first med-team that loses a new Victor?"

New Victor? I peer more closely at the face of the man on the gurney. A tube juts out of the figures' throat and I can hear raspy breathing sounds coming from the tube. At that moment the identity of the man on the gurney hits me...hard.

It's me.

I glance first at Gale, then at Gamma. "I don't wanna go back," I say softly. I like it here. It's warm, I feel safe, and I have an incredible sense of peace.

"What about  _her_?" Gale asks.

" _She'll_ be fine," I reply sadly. " _She_  has too much other shit to worry about.  _She_  doesn't need me."

"Well, you're wrong," Gamma says. "But it don't matter none anyway. Even if you're right...which you ain't, by the way...you still can't stay here."

"She's right, Peeta," Gale chimes in. "It ain't your time. Not yet. Besides, I need you to...need you to take care of  _her_...for me."

"Townie, you can't stay here," Gamma insists. I notice then that she's wearing the same shapeless Community Home dress that she wore at the Reaping. Reaping clothes. Just like Gale.

"Besides, you have things to do yet," Gale points out.

I look at Gale closely. "What things?"

"Things," Gamma replies. "Don't worry. You'll figure it out. And, when it's your time, we'll still be here. Now go!"

Before I can protest any further, Gale and Gamma disappear and my eyes snap open. I'm looking up into the face of one of the medics working on me. The medic...a young woman with bluish skin...smiles at me reassuringly.

"Just relax, Peeta," she says, her hand on my forehead. "You're going to be fine. We're en route to Victor's Mercy Hospital as we speak."

I nod. I can't talk. Not with this tube in my throat. And the pain. Snow's Beard,  _the pain..._

The medic bends over me, holding a syringe. "This will help you relax." I feel the faintest of pinpricks on my arm and in seconds my eyes are too heavy to remain open. But as I drift off, one thought keeps running through my head.

_How could Gale and Gamma be here? They're dead..._

* * *

"Peeta?"

I struggle to open my eyes. I'm only dimly aware of a swarm of people doing things to me. I feel a hand under my head lift me up gently, and then I gag as I feel a tube forced up my nose and down into my throat. At the same time, I feel hands on my organ, and my body stiffens as I feel something inserted none too gently into the tip.

I blink my eyes rapidly, focusing on the face swimming above me. Most of the face is obscured by a surgical cap and mask, and the skin that I'm able to see is an unnatural white. But the eyes...the eyes are kind. Vaguely almond shaped and a deep violet.

"I know you can't talk," the voice says again. "Squeeze my hand if you understand me."

I realize that the violet-eyed face is holding my hand. I squeeze once, weakly.

I get the impression of violet eyes smiling under the mask. "Good," the voice says. I realize that it's a woman speaking to me. "I'm Dr. Nivosus. This is my colleague, Dr. Wellgood."

Another face, again with a surgical mask and cap, appears above me. "Hello, Peeta," a new voice...a man's, this time...says warmly. I can tell he's a lot older than the woman.

The woman turns away and I can hear someone speaking to her. "It's all here, doctor," the man's voice says. "Five milligrams morphling, five milligrams Phenobarbital...he seized after his second arrhythmia...five percent saline IV drip, five hundred milligrams broad spectrum antibiotic. Tracheotomy and wound sealant for the sucking chest wound."

"Thank you," the woman says, before turning back to me. "Your trauma team did a great job on you, Peeta. But I'm not going to lie. You're a mess. We're going to take you into surgery now and fix you up, so don't worry."

The woman straightens up and turns away from me. "Get him stable and prepped," she orders crisply. "Notify thoracic and ortho that I need their best people in O.R. One in -" she pauses for a moment "- twenty minutes. And give him a mild sedative. Keep him quiet."

"Yes, Doctor," a young female voice replies. The woman...I struggle to remember her name...Dr. Nerveless...no,  _Nivosus_...looks back at me.

"Okay, Peeta," she says lightly, "We're going to get you prepped. I'll see you in a bit."

I feel her hand slip back into mine briefly and I quickly squeeze it, once. Dr. Nivosus nods, and then I feel her hand slip from mine as she and the other doctor...Goodwill?...disappear from my sight as my gurney starts to move.

"Don't you worry," the young female voice says confidently. "We'll take good care of you."

Moments later, I'm wheeled into a large, noisy room. My gurney stops. I turn my head slightly and watch, as a team of green-clad people seems to swarm over me. One of these people attaches a small vial to my IV drip, and soon pleasant warmth drifts over me. I close my eyes against the brightness of the overhead lights.

_Maybe I'll be able to see Gale and Gamma again. Even though I know they're dead..._

* * *

I wake up with a jerk. I'm in another noisy room...or maybe it was the same one?...with a blinding bright light shining into my eyes, and I hurt all over, and  _holy fuck there's something in my throat and I can't fucking breathe!_

I thrash on the bed as I raise my hands weakly to my mouth and feel something jutting from my lips. But, even as my hand closes on whatever it is, another hand...stronger than mine, and none too gentle...grabs my hand and forces it away.

"Peeta!" A voice calls out. "Peeta! Put your hands down. Put. Your. Hands. Down! Now! Hey! I need some help here!"

Another pair of hands grabs my other arm, and I feel my arms forced to the bed. I'm still gasping and struggling to breathe when I feel the hands leave my arms. I immediately try to raise them again, only to find that my arms have been strapped to the bed.

"Peeta, stop!" A face swims into view above me. A woman...no, a girl, not much older than me, with soft orange hair and an intricate tattoo covering half her face...is hovering over me. "Just relax," she says soothingly, much quieter now. "You have a tube in your throat to help you breathe. See? You're okay. Relax. Shhhh."

I force myself to relax, and I feel air being forced into my lungs in a slow, easy rhythm. My head falls back against the pillow. Okay. I don't like it, but I can breathe.

The girl smiles at me. "There. Better?" I manage a single nod. "Good." She reaches behind her and suddenly the light in my eyes disappears. "Do you know where you are?"

I shake my head, once. "You're in the Intensive Care Unit in Victor's Mercy Medical Center in the Capitol. You just won the Hunger Games. Do you remember?"

I nod. The girl smiles again. "Good. Congratulations, by the way. The doctors will be in shortly to talk to you." The girl hesitates and glances toward the end of the bed before looking back at my face. "They...they'll answer any questions...I mean...you know."

I nod again. The girl looks at me once more, gives me a final, somewhat sad, smile, and then leaves.

I lay back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling and listen as a machine breathes for me, and wait for the doctors.

* * *

"Peeta?"

My eyes pop open. I turn my head and I see the same violet eyes as before, but this time without a mask or cap. The woman is older, attractive, with flaming red hair and unnaturally white skin. She smiles at me. A man is standing slightly behind her and to her left. He's older, with a fringe of gray hair and a neatly trimmed gray beard, with a handful of piercings in each ear.

I feel the woman slip her hand into mine. "Squeeze my hand once for yes, twice for no. Okay?"

One squeeze. "Good," she says. "You understand me." Another squeeze. "We met earlier. I'm Dr. Drusilla Nivosus." She nods her head at the man behind her. "This is Dr. Galen Wellgood. We headed your surgical team." One squeeze. "Oh good. You remember." I squeeze again. Violet Eyes turns toward the man. "Doctor, would you like to take over?"

"Of course, Drusilla," Gray Beard says jovially. He slips his hand into mine as Violet Eyes takes a step back. "Peeta, Dr. Nivosus is an internal medicine specialist. She'll be watching you very carefully over the next few days for infection, sepsis, or parasitical infestation. I'm the surgical supervisor." He pauses for a moment. "There's no easy way to say this. You were a mess when you came in."

I squeeze his hand, once. "You died on the medical hovercraft, twice. You are a lucky young man. You had the best trauma team in Panem on that hovercraft, and the best surgical team in Panem working on you." Gray Beard pauses for a moment. "I want you to know that you'll recover completely."

One squeeze. "But...there was a lot of damage. Especially to your left leg." I nod. My left leg hurts like nothing I've ever experienced before...including being flogged. "I want you to know that you will walk again. But it will take a lot of effort on your part to learn how to manage your prosthesis."

I frown. Prosthesis? What the hell is he talking about?

Gray Beard puts his other hand on my shoulder. "Peeta," he begins gently. "We tried. We really did. But we couldn't save it. We were forced to amputate your left leg just below your knee."

What the fuck is he talking about? My left leg  _hurts_! I squeeze his hand, twice.

"I'm sorry, son," Gray Beard says quietly. I shake my head. He doesn't know what he's talking about. With supreme effort, I raise my head and look down toward the end of the bed.

I weakly wiggle my right leg and see my foot wave back and forth under the sheet. But where my left leg should be, the sheet flattens against the mattress just past my knee.

I shake my head. No. I can  _feel_  it! Gray Beard looks down at me sadly.

"I...we're truly sorry, son."

I jerk my hand out of his and clench my fists. Tears spring to my eyes as I stare sightlessly at the ceiling. A bubbling moan escapes my mouth from around the ventilation tube.

_Fuck. FUCK. FUCK!_

**PART II**

"Your prognosis, Doctor?"

My eyes snap open at the sound of the familiar voice. My eyes flicker over toward the door to my room and widen when I see who's standing there.

President Coriolanus Snow is speaking with Dr. Gray Beard and Dr. Violet Eyes. Several young men, all clad in black, are positioned in and out of my room, their eyes coldly scanning everything around them.  _Bodyguards_ , I say to myself. One is even watching me intently.

_Yeah, because a bed-ridden one-legged cripple is a real threat to the President,_ I say to myself bitterly.

My eyes flicker back to Violet Eyes. "Please understand, President Snow. Peeta Mellark was near death when he was brought in. I've been on staff here for a long time, and I've seen many Victors come in after their Games...but none worse than Peeta."

President Snow shoots a quick glance at me before turning back to two doctors. "How long before he's able to appear in public and be crowned Victor?"

Gray Beard and Violet Eyes glance nervously at each other. "President Snow," Gray Beard replies, "Peeta Mellark has suffered the amputation of his lower left leg. The wounds on his right shoulder and face had become septic, in spite of being treated in the field with the most powerful topical antibiotic available. He's also suffered a penetrating wound to his upper chest, resulting in a collapsed lung and necessitating the placement of a chest tube. He's dehydrated and has lost a good deal of blood. He -"

"Doctor." Snow holds up a single, white-gloved hand. "I don't want, or need, you to list each specific injury. I asked you a simple question. How long?"

"Several weeks, President Snow," Gray Beard replies.

Snow stares impassively at both doctors for a moment before speaking. "Doctors. These Games were the shortest on record...two days plus a few hours. I don't have to tell you that a great many people are dissatisfied with how quickly these Games were resolved. These same people do not wish to wait for a month or more for their new Victor to be crowned. Add to that the fact that this was the Third Quarter Quell and you may appreciate the gravity of this situation." Snow pauses, as his gaze turns icy. "Utilize the Rapid Healing Protocols. I wish to crown him Victor one week from tonight. Do I make myself clear?"

Gray Beard glances uncertainly at Violet Eyes before responding. "Quite clear, President Snow. But I must remind you that the Protocols are not without risk to the patient."

Snow smiles thinly. "Noted, Doctor. The Minister of Health will be by later on. The Minister will keep me apprised of our new Victors' progress via daily reports. You have seven days. Do  _not_  disappoint me."

* * *

As soon as Snow leaves, there is a whirlwind of activity around me. I am moved into another room, where I'm placed into a clear plastic tent. There, a new IV is inserted...painfully, I might add...into the large artery in my right leg. I'm only aware of snatches of hurried conversation as the medical team works on me.

"- Oxy saturation set at one hundred percent -"

"- Don't start the Protocol drip until he's completely out -"

"- No, ortho can't come up until tonight to measure for his prosthesis -"

"- That's right, blood type AB positive. I want ten units available -"

"- Pressure and pulse are stable and steady -"

"- Okay, folks, from here on out, everyone coming in here needs to be in full gown and mask. No exceptions -"

"- Dr. Nivosus, we're ready on your order to put him under -"

"Thank you," Dr. Violet Eyes appears over my bed. From what I can see, she's completely encased in a green surgical gown. She looks like she did when I first saw her.

"Peeta, can you hear me?" I nod once. "Good. We're going to start the Rapid Healing Protocols as soon as you're under. You'll be in a medically induced coma for a couple of days while the Protocol works. When we bring you out of it, you're going to be sore pretty much everywhere, due to involuntary muscle contractions during the course of the Protocols. That's perfectly natural and it's to be expected." She pauses for a moment before continuing. "Peeta, the Protocol is hard on your body. That's why we put you in a coma. But this will speed up your body's natural healing ability over twelve times. When you awaken, the only thing left to do will be to get you back on solid food and put you into physical therapy so you can get your strength back and learn to walk on your new leg. Do you understand?"

I nod. She reaches down and pats my shoulder. "You're new leg will 'talk' to your nervous system and will function just like your original. Beetee Latier himself designed it. In time, you won't even notice it's any different from your old leg." She glances up and looks behind her, nods, and turns back to me. "I'm going to put you to sleep now. See you in a couple of days, okay?"

I nod as she reaches up to the IV tree above my head and opens the drip on a small greenish bag, then pats my shoulder once more before leaving the room.

My eyes are immediately heavy. A sound off to my right causes me to slowly turn my head. There's a large window, and I can see people hurrying back and forth outside. And I can see Haymitch and Katniss standing right at the window, looking in on me.

Haymitch looks grim.  _Do I look_ that _bad? I bet I do._  Katniss has both hands pressed against the glass as she stares in at me. The sound I heard must have been her hands against the glass. I force my eyes open and, for a brief moment, my eyes look directly into hers.

Katniss locks eyes with me as she stares back at me, wide-eyed. I can see her mouth moving. She looks...she looks...stricken. I try to smile around the tube in my mouth. Katniss suddenly closes her eyes tightly shut, and I watch in amazement as a single tear tracks down her face from each eye as she brings one hand to her mouth. She drops her head and her shoulders hunch forward. I can see her shoulders start to shake slightly.

She's crying.

Haymitch puts one hand on her shoulder and she suddenly spins, clutching at his shoulders with both hands as she buries her face in his chest as her shoulders continue to heave.

My eyes drift shut and I'm aware of one last thought before darkness settles over my mind.

_It's okay, Katniss. Don't cry. Don't -_

**PART III**

My eyes snap open.

For a moment, my eyes stare up at a white-painted ceiling. I blink rapidly a few times and try to focus. I strain to hear something...anything...and a very soft hissing sound rewards me. It's then that I realize that there's a mask covering my nose and mouth. Cool air is being blown over my nose and lips. It feels good.

I turn my head to the right. An IV tree is set up next to the bed that I'm in. I'm sore all over and I hear myself give off a small, raspy groan as I turn my head back.

"Well, good mornin', bright eyes," a soft, warm voice says. I turn my head to the left, where the voice came from, and I see a woman...older, slender, with short hair and dark brown skin, sitting in a chair next to my bed. She looks vaguely familiar for some reason.

The woman smiles at me and I feel my mouth twitch as I return her smile. I try to talk but the only thing that comes out of my mouth is a hoarse, whispery croak.

"Oh, my," she says softly. "Of course you can't talk. One moment, honey." The woman turns to a speaker grille next to the bed and pushes a button. A voice emanates from the speaker almost instantly.

"Yes?"

"He's awake."

"I'll call the doctors."

"He's thirsty, too. He needs water."

"Right away, ma'am."

The woman pushes the button again and the speaker goes silent. She turns back to me. "Do you know where you are, honey?"

I manage to nod once as I strain to blow off the cobwebs on my brain. "Hos-pi-tal," I manage to croak out.

The woman smiles again and leans forward to pat my arm. "That's right! And please 'cuse my bad manners. My name's Seeder. I'm from District Eleven."

I frown, trying to think. District Eleven? Seeder? A thought pops into my head. "Vic-tor?" I ask.

"That's right," Seeder replies. "And this is what we call 'the Vigil.' Whenever a new Victor is hurt bad enough...that's you, honey, sorry...the rest of us take turns watching over them while they're in the hospital here. Well, most of us, anyway. You just got lucky and got me when you opened your eyes."

I smile under my mask. A nurse hurries into the room, carrying a pitcher of water. I suddenly realize just how thirsty I am.

"The doctors will be here in a few minutes." The nurse explains. She looks almost normal for a Capitolite...if I could ignore her bright red skin coloration. I watch as the nurse carefully pours a cup of water, and then steps to my bedside, pulls the oxygen mask down, and guides a straw to my lips.

"Not too much," she admonishes as I pull greedily at the straw. I take three good swallows before the nurse pulls the straw away. She looks at me sternly. "Go slow. You can have more in a few minutes." Her gaze softens as she adds, "And congratulations. You earned it."

_Congratulations? For what? Not getting killed? Or for killing?_

It's probably a good thing that I can't really talk right now.

"So, our patient is awake?" A man's voice says from the doorway. I turn my head to the right and see Dr. Gray Beard and Dr. Violet Eyes come in to the room. Both are smiling broadly.

"Just a few moments ago, Doctor," Seeder explains, and then adds, "he was thirsty. The nurse brought him some water."

"Fine, fine," Gray Beard says as he and Violet Eyes bend over me. For some reason Gray Beard looks familiar...but I don't know why. "Are you hungry, son?"

Starving, in fact. I can't remember the last time I was so hungry. I nod. Gray Beard turns to Nurse Red. "Give him a liquid tray for lunch, and, if he doesn't have any problem with that, whatever he wants for dinner."

"Yes, doctor."

"Alright, let's take a look here," Gray Beard says. For the next few minutes he and Violet Eyes examine me carefully, paying close attention to my upper chest and my left leg...or, I should say, what's left of my left leg.

Finally, Gray Beard straightens up, along with Violet eyes. "How do you feel, Peeta?" Violet Eyes asks me. "Are you sore?"

_What a stupid fucking question! Let_ me _cut_ your _fucking leg off and see how_ you _feel!_

I bite my tongue. "Like shit," I croak. Nurse Red steps forward, pulls my oxygen mask aside again, and holds the water straw to my lips. I drink deeply.

Violet Eyes looks at me sympathetically. "That's to be expected. But you're coming along just fine. We'll start your physical therapy tomorrow and -"

"I'm not fine." I feel the rust fall away from my voice more with each word. "You cut my fucking leg off."

Both Violet Eyes and Gray Beard look at me in surprise. "Peeta," Gray Beard says patiently, "We explained that to you. There was nothing we could do to save your leg. Your tourniquet saved your life...but the cost was your leg."

"Besides," Violet Eyes quickly adds, "Your new leg will be able to do everything that your old leg could do. You'll be able to walk, run, whatever you -"

"Can it feel?"

My question takes Violet Eyes aback. "Well...no, not in the sense that you're -"

"Then it's not the same."

"Dru." Gray Beard says softly before Violet Eyes can say anything else. He then turns to me. "Get some rest, Peeta. We'll talk later."

"Sure," I reply snidely. "Not like I can run off or anything."

I watch as Gray Beard, Violet Eyes, and Nurse Red walk out of the room. The last thing I hear is Violet Eyes saying something about consulting with some other doctor. I let my head sink back into the pillow and stare up at the ceiling.

"Peeta." Seeder's soft voice causes me to jump a little. I had forgotten she was still there. I turn my head to look at her. She's smiling at me sadly.

"Sorry," I say softly.

"I'm not the one you should apologize to," she replies evenly. "Your doctors did what they had to do."

"Whatever," I say flatly. I reach for my water cup. Seeder jumps up to help me with it.

"I can do it!" I say, more sharply than I intended. Seeder throws her hands up and steps back, silently admonishing me with her eyes.

I grab my cup and clumsily pick it up with trembling fingers. I've pushed the oxygen mask up and just about managed to get the straw to my lips when I squeeze the cup a little too hard. The top pops off and I dump the remains of the water onto my chest.

"Shit," I say miserably, as the dam finally breaks and my tears flow freely.

Seeder is beside me instantly, cradling my head against her chest. "It's okay, honey," she murmurs as I cry. "I know. I know."

* * *

"Kid, don't take this the wrong way," Haymitch says as he sits down. "But you look like shit."

"Good to see you too," I reply, my voice thick with emotion. I examine my Mentor's face closely, especially the large bags under his eyes. "You don't look so hot yourself."

"Occupational hazard," Haymitch replies wryly. He leans forward and hands me a small nylon pack. "I thought you might want this as a souvenir."

I take the pack gingerly. Evie's pack, I now realize. "You were still wearing it when you came in," Haymitch explained. He doesn't mention the slingshot or the two arrows that were stuck in me, and I don't ask.

"Thanks," I mutter. With trembling fingers I open the pack and remove the contents. The spile. The small utility knife. And a small, silvery gray pearl. I roll the pearl between my thumb and forefinger as I stare at it thoughtfully.

"There's all kinds of speculation as to who that's for," Haymitch says conversationally.

In response I drop it back into the pack. "Oh."

"Anyone I know?" Haymitch asks innocently.

"Drop it, Haymitch," I say flatly. To my surprise he does just that.

I pick up the knife and unscrew the handle. I note with satisfaction that the flint was still inside. I shake it out and hold it up. "I wish we had thought to check this knife out more closely when we first got it," I say. "We could have had broiled tree rat for dinner."

Haymitch shudders. "Kid, if you'd eat that, you'd eat anything. Besides, I wasn't the one that ordered that for you."

I carefully replace the flint in the handle and screw the cap back on before placing the knife and spile back into the pack. I close the pack carefully and set it aside before speaking again.

"Speaking of which, where is she?" I ask.

Haymitch looks away. "She'll be by later on," he explains lamely. "She's...busy right now."

I look down at my hands, carefully examining my fingernails. Someone has cut and shaped them to perfection. And my hands are completely free of scars. Every burn scar from years in the bakery...gone. I wonder when they managed to slip someone in to give me a manicure.

"'Busy,'" I repeat, trying, and failing, to keep the bitterness out of my voice. "Even with the Games over, 'business' keeps going on, huh, Haymitch?"

Haymitch fixes me with an icy stare for a long minute before replying. "Kid, I'll chalk that asinine remark up to a bit too much morphling. And I'll do you an enormous favor by forgetting you ever said it. Just be aware that she's done more for you than you will ever know. And that's all I'm gonna say on the subject. Are we clear on that?"

Truthfully, I wasn't expecting such an angry response. Surprised at Haymitch's vehemence, I nod meekly. "Yes, sir," I say quietly.

Haymitch sits back in his chair. "Good. Okay, now, where were we? Oh, yes. I've spoken with your father and given him the run-down on your condition. And, before you can make another uncalled-for smart-ass remark, he, along with your brothers, and yes, even dear old mom are overjoyed that you've survived."

I'm suddenly seized with a pang of homesickness. I really, really want to see my family again. Especially Poppa. I even want to see my mother.

"I miss them," I say simply.

"I thought you might," Haymitch says dryly. "You can have them move in with you when you return to Twelve, you know. You, of all people, know how big those Village mansions are."

"I...I'll think about it," I mumble.

"You do that," Haymitch replies. "Oh, and another thing. Lose the attitude with Nivosus and Wellgood. They only saved your life, you know. Especially Wellgood. He's one of the better ones here. He used to be posted to the Mine Office, you know."

That's where I've seen him before! He was the Company Doctor! "'Used to be?'" I ask. "Why's he back here now?"

"Got a promotion last year for how he dealt with the typhoid epidemic in Twelve," Haymitch replies.

I frown. "What epidemic?" I ask.

"Typhoid," Haymitch explains patiently. "It's a pretty serious illness. Over a hundred got sick. Eleven died. All Seam. That's probably why you don't remember. Wellgood nipped it in the bud before it got out of hand."

"Oh," is all I can think to say.  _Must have happened before I moved in with Haymitch._

"Yeah," Haymitch continues. "So, ease up on them. What happened to you is not their fault."

Haymitch and I talk for a while longer. And I can't help but keep casting glances at the flat spot in the sheet that covers me.

* * *

It's easier to talk now that the oxygen mask is off my face. Now I just have a small, clear tube clamped to my nostrils. Oh, and Nurse Red came in earlier and removed the tube that had been inserted up my nose, prompting another gag fest.

The tube that was inserted in my organ remains, however. Every so often an Avox orderly comes in and empties the bag of urine that hangs under my bed. I'm told that they will remove that tube tomorrow.

The Vigil continues.

Johanna Mason explains it to me the best. Any time a non-Career Victor is severely injured in the Games, other Victors...mostly Mentors, but sometimes other Victors that come to the Capitol during the Games...take turns sitting by the new Victors' bedside until the new Victor is discharged.

"Not every new Victor, you understand," Johanna explains. "I mean, this is my first Vigil. A Victor has to come in pretty fucked up to rate a Vigil. Unfortunately, handsome, that's you."

"What about Katniss?" I ask.

Johanna laughs. "Brainless? Most of what they had to do on her last year was cosmetic. Fix her ear, work on her leg a bit, and sandblast away the scars. Nothing major. Besides that, I got the distinct impression that she didn't want company anyway. Now  _you_ , on the other hand... _you_  were a fucked up mess."

"So everyone tells me," I murmur, staring down at the flat space under my left knee.

"But you're getting better all the time," Johanna adds hastily. "Anyway, we're here basically to make sure that you get whatever you need."

_What I need right now is to see Katniss. But she still hasn't come around._

"So, are you gonna tell me?" Johanna asks with a knowing smile.

"Tell you what?" I ask irritably.

"Who the girl is back home," Johanna asks, ignoring my tone.

"No," I reply flatly.

Johanna almost pouts when I tell her no. Almost. Somehow I can't visualize Johanna Mason ever really pouting about anything.

But something has been bugging me...and it seems to me that Johanna is the perfect person to ask.

"Can I ask you something, Johanna?"

"My friends call me Jo. And I'm not sure. I asked  _you_  something and you bit my head off!"

"I...well...okay, listen," I say. "About that. I'm sorry for getting short with you. That whole thing...it's a really sore subject with me."

Johanna regards me coolly for a moment before replying. "Okay. Fair enough. Ask away. But I might not answer."

I nod. "Okay." I pause for a moment and beckon her closer. When she leans down I ask in a whisper, "What do you know about 'Games Business?'"

Johanna straightens up, her face an impassive mask. "Nothing. Not a fucking thing. And don't ask me again."

I guess I really didn't expect an answer from her anyhow.

* * *

I wake up with a small scream from a nightmare about mutt-snakes, arrows in the backs of heads, and of girls dying in my arms while talking about how they can smell bread. It's nighttime now, although it's not too late in the evening. There's still a lot of activity in the hospital. And a new face is keeping Vigil over me.

"You okay?" The man asks calmly. He looks to be somewhat older than Haymitch. Dark skinned like Seeder. I recognize him almost instantly from Mandatory Viewing of other Games that I've watched over the years. He's a close friend of Haymitch.

"Yeah," I mumble. "You're Chaff, right?"

The man flashes a quick grin at me. "In the flesh."

"Seen you before," I mutter weakly. "Mandatory Viewing. With Haymitch."

"I bet you have, kid," Chaff replies amiably. "Haymitch and I go back a ways. I sat Vigil for him after his Games, you know."

I shake my head. "No. I didn't know."

Chaff chuckles, a deep rumbling sound that seems to start somewhere around his feet. "Boy, he was one fucked up mess when he came in. More dead than alive. Just like you. Only thing keepin' his guts inside him were his own two hands."

I mull this over. Haymitch has never spoken to me about his Games. "What happened to him?"

"The details are for him to tell, kid," Chaff replies. "Not me." Chaff lapses into silence for a few moments before continuing. "He was my first Vigil. Snow, what a mean son of a bitch he was! I liked him from the start."

I say nothing. Chaff examines me closely. "And how about you?"

My eyes narrow slightly. "What about me?"

"Well," Chaff says slowly, "word has it that you've hitched your team to a nice, big pity wagon." His eyes flicker down to the flat spot under my left knee. "If that's the worst that's happened to you, consider yourself lucky."

I stare up at the ceiling. "'Lucky,'" I repeat. "Yeah, I'm just about the luckiest guy in Panem. Odds in my favor and all that."

"See, that's what I'm talkin' about," Chaff says conversationally. "You know, there's twenty-three kids that, if we could ask them, would gladly trade a leg or an arm to not be laying in a box, in cold storage, waiting to be shipped home. Kid, I ain't sayin' its easy...'cause it ain't. I know how you feel and -"

"Bullshit!" I snap. "No one knows how I feel!"

"No?" Chaff replies calmly. "Well, kid, it's you that's full of shit." Chaff holds up his left arm and lets the sleeve fall down toward his elbow. His arm ends in a stump. "Like I was sayin' before you so rudely interrupted me...I know how you feel. And I'm here to tell you that life does go on. You'll get used to it. I did."

I stare, dumbfounded, at the stump of Chaff's arm, and wonder why I never noticed it before when I would see him on Mandatory Viewing.  _Editing. The Capitol doesn't want to display Victors with obvious disabilities. They just very carefully never showed his left arm._

"Has Beetee been in to see you?" Chaff asks.

I shake my head. "No."

"He will," Chaff continues. "He designed your leg. Guy's a fuckin' genius. My guess is he'll be in tomorrow when they start you on PT. You tell him what you want and he'll make your leg do it for you."

I frown. "PT?"

"Physical Therapy," Chaff explains. "To get your strength back...and to learn to walk on your new leg. You got some work ahead of you, kid. The Victor's Interview is scheduled four days from today."

"And I go home after that," I say softly.

"Yeah," Chaff says. "You go home. But  _how_  you go home is up to you."

We talk for a while longer, until the nurses come by for their evening rounds. Before he goes, I make him promise to come see me again.

Chaff and I have a bond that no other Victor can share. Not even Katniss.

* * *

I'm not sure how long I was asleep. It wasn't even really sleep, more like fitful dozing, with more unsettling dreams, this time mostly featuring the Tributes that I killed. The blood on my hands that will never come off.

I wake up, gasping, the sheet clenched in both fists, as I stare at the ceiling. The room is dark, except for a single small light.  _Only a dream_ , I say to myself.  _Only a dream._

"Hey."

I jerk, startled by the soft voice coming from my left. I turn my head toward the voice and feel my heart skip a beat when I see who's sitting in the chair next to my bed.

Katniss.

She returns my gaze, her eyes filled with worry. I work my mouth for a moment before replying.

"Hey."  _Wow, brilliant response, Mellark._  I examine her face more closely. One thing jumps out at me. Katniss has been crying.

"How do you feel?" Katniss asks lamely. It's become the standard opening line for just about everyone that's come into my room.

"Alive," I reply. I give her a small smile. "I feel alive."

"I'm sorry it took so long," Katniss blurts. "For me to come visit, I mean."

_Well, Katniss, I know how in demand you are here. I'm sure you were "busy."_  And I'm immediately ashamed for the thought.  _You asshole. Whatever she's doing, it's not her fault...or her choice._

"It's okay," I reply softly. "You're here now. That's all that matters."

I reach my left hand out toward Katniss. She looks at my hand, hesitates for a moment, and then scoots her chair in closer to the bed and slips her fingers into my hand. I close my fingers around hers, marveling at how warm her hand is.

"I came to see you before," Katniss says softly. "After you came out of surgery. You probably don't remember."

"I remember," I reply. "I saw you. Haymitch too."

Katniss looks at me in surprise. "Dr. Nivosus said that you wouldn't remember anything."

"You had both hands on the glass," I recite. "We made eye contact. You closed your eyes. I saw a single tear from each eye. You put your left hand over your mouth. You hunched your shoulders and turned away and I could see your shoulders shaking and I knew you were crying. You put your face into Haymitch's chest and he held you as you cried. And then I woke up here."

As I speak, I'm vaguely aware that it was becoming harder and harder to speak. By the time I'm done, my voice is catching badly. I feel tears rolling down my own face. And I don't care.

There are tears on Katniss's face as well. "You remembered all that," she whispers. "I would think you would want to forget."

I feel her fingers tighten on mine as I whisper, "But I don't want to forget."

We sit in awkward silence for a few moments. The silence was finally broken by Katniss, who says, "I took care of Gamma."

I frown. "What do you mean?"

Katniss takes a deep breath. "When they...when they brought her back from the arena. That's a part of a Mentor's duties. Taking care of Tributes after they...don't win. The...people...here did a really nice job on her. She looks just like she's asleep."

I shudder. Gamma has been haunting my dreams every time I fall asleep...and there was that strange encounter on the medical hovercraft right after I was lifted out of the arena. "Can we talk about something else, please?"

Katniss blinks in surprise. "Sure," she says quickly. Her fingers grow slack in my own and, for a moment, I'm afraid that she's going to pull her hand back and leave.

"Wait," I say desperately. I fumble for Evie's small pack. "Look what Haymitch gave me."

Katniss drops her eyes to the pack, then back up to my face. "Is that the one I sent you?"

I nod. "Yeah." I smile. "We had a heck of a time figuring out the spile."

"I know," Katniss replies. "But we can't send along any type of communication with gifts. I was hoping that one of your District Nine Allies would know what it was and be able to -"

Katniss pauses as a stricken look passes over my face at her mention of Husker and Evie. "I'm sorry," she whispers, as she pulls her hand free from my fingers.

I clench my fingers shut, trying to hold on to the sensation of her hand nestled in mine. "It's okay," I reply softly. "It's just hard to think about them."

"I was the same way about Rue...and Gale," Katniss admits. "I still am."

"Yeah." Gale. Apparently his ghost haunts both Katniss  _and_  I. I glance at the large wall clock in my room and realize with a start that it's past midnight. "I didn't realize how late it was," I say, changing the subject.

"I'm sorry," Katniss says. "You're probably tired. I should probably -"

"Katniss," I interrupt with a small smile. "You're doing it again."

Katniss frowns. "Doing what?"

"Apologizing," I explain. "You've said 'I'm sorry' at least three times since you've been here."

"Have I?" Katniss replies. "I didn't know. I'm sor...shit!" she stops herself, hiding her mouth behind her hand as she lets out a short, embarrassed laugh. "I did it again!"

I push myself further up on the pile of pillows behind my head, grunting a bit with the effort. "At least we aren't fighting or arguing," I point out.

"That's true," Katniss admits, dropping her hand away from her face. The smile was still there. "We're improving."

"I'll take it," I say softly.

Katniss gazes at me for a few moments before her hand reaches out and brushes my hair off my forehead. "Peeta Mellark, you're such a mess," she whispers.

I reach up and grab her hand before she can pull it away, and quickly guide it to my lips, gently kissing her fingers before I let go.

Katniss looks at me in confusion for a moment before standing up. It's only then that I realize that she's wearing a skirt. Nervously, she smoothes the skirt down then looks back at me.

"I have to go," she says quietly.

"'Have to?'" I ask, my eyes searching hers. "Or want to?"

In response, Katniss quickly bends over me, kissing my cheek, before straightening up. "Goodnight, Peeta," she says as she moves toward the door. "Get some rest. I'll be back tomorrow."

And then she's gone.

I don't know how long I lay there with my fingers pressed to the spot on my cheek where she kissed me.

**PART IV**

"Come on, Peeta," Atala says sharply. "You can do it! Down to the end of the bars, turn around, and come back!"

I mutter under my breath as I grab onto the parallel bars and push myself upright. My t-shirt and shorts are soaked with sweat. My arms are trembling with exertion.

"That's it," Atala says. "Come on, now. One foot in front of the other."

As I struggle to comply, I think back to my first meeting with Atala, the Hunger Games Head Trainer/Physical Therapist at Victor's Mercy Medical Center.

"What are  _you_  doing here?" I had asked in astonishment when she had walked into my hospital room that morning.

"Nice to see you again, too," she had replied wryly. "And, to answer your question, I run the Physical Therapy Department here at Victor's Mercy. And I'm here to teach you how to walk again."

So, here we are. After fitting me with my new prosthetic leg, I was taken by wheelchair to the basement gymnasium for my physical therapy. The trip made me uneasy, as it reminded me too much of going to the Training Center before my Games.

_At least this time when my training is over, I go home instead of into the arena._

I grip the horizontal bars tighter and slowly shuffle one foot in front of the other. I glance down to see where the prosthetic foot is landing, drawing a sharp rebuke from Atala.

"Don't look down!" She snaps. "Do you normally look down when you walk?"

"No," I grunt. "I don't. But I was able to feel both feet before. I can't feel anything in my left foot now!"

"Sure you can," a calm voice says to my left. I glance over, shooting Beetee Latier an irritated look. "Your brain just needs to get used to processing the sensation."

"I don't feel shit," I grunt as I continue to shuffle. I look straight ahead like Atala told me to do. Suddenly, I feel the prosthesis give way. I clutch at the bars but it's no use. I crash heavily to the mat below.

I grunt as I hit the mat and roll over. A pair of Avox orderlies begins to move in immediately to help me up before Atala stops them.

"No! He can get up on his own!" The trainer looks at me intently. "Come on, Peeta. Your body is healed. You just need to get your muscle tone back. Get up!"

Cursing her under my breath, I clumsily swing my legs under me, pushing with my arms and my one good leg as I try to stand. I make it halfway up before my right arm gives out and I crash to the mat again.

Panting with exertion, I roll over. "Can I get some water?"

Atala grabs a full water bottle and places it on a chair behind me. "You get it," she says sternly, " _after_  you get off your ass, back onto the bars, and walk down to the end, turn around, and walk back again."

"Fuckin' bitch," I mutter.

"Cut," a female voice says. "Stop recording. Stand by." Cressida steps forward, a determined look on her face. She had, to my joyous surprise, showed up that morning with her crew in tow to document my recovery. So far, we hadn't had much chance to talk, and she hasn't said anything to anyone that wasn't directly related to her job...until now.

"Would it hurt to give him some water?" Cressida demands.

Atala fixes the blonde Resident Director with a steely gaze. "Yes. It would. Treat him like a cripple and he'll become a cripple. And that would be bad. For all of us."

Her unspoken meaning wasn't lost on anyone present. President Snow had given everyone involved in my recovery seven days to get me ready for the Victor's Interview, which, I had been told, would be broadcast in front of a live audience, due to the unusual circumstances of it being the Third Quarter Quell.  _Chaff's right,_  I say to myself _. My team's hitched to a large pity wagon. Capitol or not, these people are trying to help. The least I can do is to not let them down._

I wipe my sweating face with the sleeve of my t-shirt while muttering, "I really wish people would stop fuckin' talkin' about me like I'm not here," before I steel myself to make another attempt to stand.

Somehow I manage to drag myself to my feet, hopping on my right leg as I grab the horizontal bars one more time. Slowly I lower my prosthesis until the pressure in what's left of my leg tells me it's on the floor. It's then that I notice a new sensation...a kind of warm tingling that seems to come from the bottom of the prosthesis. Experimentally I raise my left leg. The tingling slows, and then stops, only to begin again when I lower the prosthesis to the mat once more.

I glance over at Beetee. "It's tingling."

"'Tingling?'" He repeats. "Interesting. And you are experiencing this only when you apply pressure to it?"

I nod. "It disappears when I lift my leg up."

"Is the sensation unpleasant?"

I think about that one for a moment. "No. Just...different."

Beetee smiles broadly. "Congratulations. You found it."

I frown and look at him in confusion. "Found what?"

"What you need to be able to walk," he explains. "There are sensors literally over every square centimeter of your prosthesis, Peeta. These will register a variety of sensations...simple touch, pressure, heat, cold...even a sort of pseudo-pain that will alert you if the unit becomes damaged. These sensors, along with the prosthesis, are hard-wired directly into your central nervous system. However, everybody's nervous system behaves differently. Your prosthesis was simply searching...to put it in layman's terms...for the right signals to send to your brain."

"So I should be able to walk?" I ask.

Beetee gestures to the horizontal bars. "Try it."

I turn, grasping the bars firmly once more, and I begin to walk. I don't look down. Beetee was right. With each step, it was becoming easier and easier. I reach the end of the bars, turn around carefully, and walk back.

"Good job," Atala says, grinning. "Take a break, get some water, and I'll even forget that you called me a 'bitch' a few minutes ago."

"In a minute," I reply. "I want to try something." I deliberately let go of the bars, turning around slowly and carefully, and then, holding my hands just above the bars in case I feel myself starting to fall, I walk to the end of the bars, turn around, and walk back again.

Atala nods approvingly. "Outstanding, Peeta! Now...sit and drink that water. That is not a request. As much as you've been perspiring you need to re-hydrate."

She doesn't have to tell me twice. I gratefully sink into the chair, open the water bottle, and take a long, deep pull, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand when I'm done.

"Here," Cressida says with a smile as she hands me a towel. "This will probably look better on camera if you use the towel instead of the back of your hand."

I grin up at her as I take the towel and mop my face. "Thanks," I say. "It's really good to see you again, Cressida."

In response, she puts her hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently. "Likewise," she says softly. "Maybe now things will settle down for you, huh?"

"I hope so," I reply. "I can use a little dull boredom in my life. At least for a while." I take another deep swallow from the water bottle.

"I'd like to sit down with you later on," Cressida says. "Are you up for a one-on-one interview?"

"Sure," I reply with a smile. "But not until later on this afternoon. I'm hoping to take a real shower today."

"Early evening, then," Cressida says, consulting her scheduler.

"It's a date," I say enthusiastically. Cressida glances at me sharply when I say this, but her face quickly lapses back into its usual friendly, but professional, appearance.

Atala appears before either Cressida or I can say anything else. I notice that she's carrying a pair of crutches, which she hands to me.

"Here," she says. "Let's get these adjusted to you, and then we'll practice a bit with them. These are not for you to take your weight off your leg. These are to help you remain stable while you walk. Understood?"

"Understood." I examine the crutches and then I stand up clumsily. While Cressida's crew records, Atala adjusts the crutches and I spend the next hour or so practicing how to walk, both with and without the crutches.

Finally, Atala seems satisfied. She even allows me to take myself to the bathroom...something that I've had to do frequently since Nurse Red removed the tube...she called it a "catheter"...from my organ that morning.

Atala waves away the Avox orderly that appears with a wheelchair. "No more free rides for you, Peeta," she says. "I expect you to use your crutches. Tomorrow we'll work on your upper body and continue on leg strengthening. In the meantime, you'll find an exercise band and a list of exercises in your room. These are simple exercises that you can even do in bed. Work on those and I'll see you bright and early tomorrow."

Accompanied by Cressida and her crew, as well as a pair of Avox orderlies, I leave physical therapy and ride the elevator back up to my floor. I make small talk with Cressida and her crew. I'm really looking forward to a long, hot shower and an afternoon nap.

What I get is a visitor. And not just any visitor.

I get none other than President Coriolanus Snow.

**PART V**

At least his presence wasn't a total surprise. Black-clad security people were everywhere. And, to her credit, Cressida never misses a beat, but keeps on recording as I make my way slowly to my room.

That's as far as she gets, though. She's stopped by security just outside the door. And she knows better than to try to argue with them.

The first thing that I notice as I enter the room is a cloying, almost overpowering odor of roses, along with another scent that I had become all too familiar with during my time in the arena...the scent of blood. It's all I can do to not cough...or worse...at the smell.

President Snow is standing, his hands clasped behind his back, gazing out the window as I enter. He turns at the sound of my slow, measured footsteps, as well as the quiet squeaking of the rubber "feet" of the crutches against the tile floor.

Snow greets me with a wide smile. "Ahh! My latest Victor! Come in, my boy, come in! And do sit...you look quite exhausted!" He indicates a chair next to the window. I notice another chair placed close to the one that he's pointed out for me to sit in, facing my chair.

Although President Snow is just about the last person that I want to see, I am worn out from the physical therapy and I gratefully sink into the proffered chair. "Thank you, sir. And I'm honored by your visit."

"Nonsense, my boy!" Snow replies, smiling with his puffy, unnatural lips. "It's I that am honored. You are, after all, only one of three Quarter Quell Victors...ever! That feat is much rarer than becoming a President of Panem." Snow swivels his head toward the security detail standing in my room. "Leave us. And shut the door."

The security detail complies immediately. Snow turns back toward me. "And now," he says, "the reason for my visit." Snow pauses for a moment, steepling his fingers and pressing them to his puffy lips, as though deep in thought. I feel a cold knot of fear growing inside me, and I have no idea why.  _This must be how Evie felt...right before being killed by that mutt-snake._

"We have a problem," he says finally.

I force myself to take two deep breaths before responding. "Yes, sir?"

Snow slowly reaches into an inner pocket in his jacket and extracts several sheets of folded paper. He places them on the windowsill, within my easy reach. "These were discovered in your quarters in the Training Center."

I feel my heart skip a beat as I stare at the sheaf of paper. I don't move to pick it up. I already know what's there. Several pencil sketches of Katniss...and my letter to her.

"You know what these are." It was a statement, not a question.

I nod slowly. "Yes, sir."

"Then you know that pencil and paper are contraband for a Tribute."

"President Snow, I didn't know that at the time. I just asked for paper and pencil to draw with."

"Well,  _you_  may not have known, but your Avox servant certainly did." Snow reaches forward and picks up one drawing, unfolding it carefully and laying it out, running his hand over to smooth the paper. I blush slightly. The drawing he had chosen was of Katniss; bow in hand, wearing a somewhat skimpy warrior princess costume.

"You do have a certain talent, I'll grant you that," Snow says with a smile, even as he leans forward in his chair. "Mr. Mellark, I've been advised by people, whose advice I value a great deal, that you could potentially become a problem."

I feel that knot of fear grow larger. "Nothing to say? No matter. Allow me to enumerate the concerns of my advisors. One. You trained for the Games in District Twelve, under the guise of training for an athletic scholarship. Now, you know that training for the Games is strictly forbidden...however, you also were under legitimate consideration for that scholarship, so the decision has been made to ignore this alleged breach of the rules."

_I wonder if he knows about Goat Man_ , I say to myself.

"Two. This." He picks up the sheaf of paper. "I'm quite disappointed by this. Avox are selected for assignment to the Training Center quite carefully. To have one blatantly flout the established rules is virtually unheard of."

"Sir," I finally say, having found my voice at last, "please don't punish Lavinia. I asked for her help. She was only providing me what I asked for."

"Lavinia?" Snow asks. "Oh, is that what its name is? The Avox with the flaming red hair? Mr. Mellark, please try to understand that I took no pleasure in punishing it. However, I did take into account your natural charisma...which is quite substantial. No, Mr. Mellark...its not dead, simply...reassigned to other duties."

I feel a wave of relief wash over me. Not dead, just reassigned. I only hope that she doesn't hate me.

"Finally, number three." Snow picks up another sheet of paper, opens it, and smoothes it out. This one is covered in writing. There's no doubt what this one is. It's my letter to Katniss.

"This one moved me, Mr. Mellark. Twelve years of unrequited love. Since the age of  _five_." Snow places a small pair of glasses delicately on his nose and, for the next minute or so, appears to read the letter while I can feel my own neck and cheeks burn with embarrassment and anger. Finally he puts the letter down and peers at me over the top of his glasses.

"So, tell me, Mr. Mellark," Snow says conversationally. "Does she know how you feel?"

"Yes," I whisper miserably.

"And?"

_He's just like that mutt-snake. Worse. The snake didn't know what it was doing._ "And what, sir?" I ask.

Snow sighs impatiently. "And...does she return your feelings?"

"I...I don't know," I stammer.

"'You don't know?'" Snow asks incredulously. "How can you not know? Either yes, she does, or no, she doesn't! Now which is it?"

I shrug as I slowly reply, "She hasn't indicated anything to me that would make me think that she returns my feelings, President Snow."

Snow leans back in his chair and rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Mr. Mellark, I believe it would be best if we didn't lie to one another, don't you think?"

"Sir, I'm not lying. Katniss is...she is hard to read. But she's never said anything to me that would make me think that she feels the same way about me that I do about her."

Snow seems to think this over for a few moments before responding. "I believe you, Mr. Mellark." He shakes his head sympathetically. "Ahh, there's nothing quite as heart wrenching as unrequited love, is there?"

I dig my fingernails into my palm, pretending that my fingers are wrapped around Snow's throat instead. "No, sir," I simply say.

Snow leans forward slightly. "My boy, I like you. I really do. And, judging from the response that your Victory has generated, so does the majority of Panem. And that, young man, is why I chose to disregard your...improprieties...as well as why I didn't have the Avox summarily executed. I just have one piece of advice for you."

"Sir?"

"Be careful. You are a Victor now, Mr. Mellark. You represent District Twelve as well as all of Panem. That means you represent me." Snow pauses for a moment. "On that subject, have you ever spoken to your Mentor regarding his Games...specifically, how he won?"

I shake my head. "He's never told me, sir. But I've been told, since coming out of the arena, something about how he won."

Snow nods thoughtfully. "Then you are now aware that I take a very dim view of the arena being utilized as a weapon."

I nod. "Yes, sir. President Snow, if I had known before -"

Snow holds up a single gloved hand. "Say no more. Suffice it to say that you had a rather surprising individual intercede with me on your behalf...the Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane." I frown slightly. The Head Gamemaker? Why would the Head Gamemaker go to the President about me?  _Haymitch,_ I say to myself.  _Haymitch must have gone to him when I killed Ishmael on the force field._  "No matter," Snow continues. "I believe you, Peeta...may I call you Peeta?" I nod wordlessly. "Wonderful! And please feel free to address me as President Snow...or sir." Snow laughs loudly at his own joke...but his eyes remain as cold as ever.

"Like I said," Snow continues, "I believe you. And I do like you...I really do. All that I require of you are two simple tasks. One. Be a good Victor and represent me well...and always remember that if you fail in this task, you will not be the one to pay the price for your failure."

"Yes, sir," I choke out. The implication is clear. If I step out of line, someone close to me will die. And, as angry as I've been with my family recently, I don't want any of them to die.

"There's a good lad," Snow says with mock affection. "And number two. Katniss Everdeen is doing important work for me and for my administration. I don't want her distracted in any way from her 'duties.' To that end, I will require you to do something for me to ensure that she remains focused."

_He's asking me to help him whore her out._  I seethe inwardly. Outwardly, I ask calmly, "Yes, sir. What do you need me to do?"

"Stay away from Katniss Everdeen."

There's a roaring in my ears and I suddenly feel dizzy. "Sir?"

"Oh, Peeta," Snow says impatiently. "Go back to Twelve. Find yourself another Seam slut to dip your wick into. I'm sure that there will be no lack of willing, olive-skinned coal miners' daughters eager to accept your influx of teenage hormones. But Katniss Everdeen is off limits. Do I make myself clear?

I nod dumbly. "Yes, sir," I reply in a hoarse croak.

Snow stands up. "Good! I'm glad we had this opportunity to chat, Peeta." The door to my room swings open, and I realize that he must have somehow signaled his security to come in.

Snow lays a hand on my shoulder affectionately. "No, no. Don't get up, my boy. You need to regain your strength." He pats my shoulder once. "I'll see you at the Victor's Interview. It will be a pleasure to crown you. Till then, remember what I said."

And then he's gone.

I'm not sure how long I sit and stare out the window. In my mind I replay over and over what Katniss said to me, that night on the roof.

"Be careful what you wish for."

I'm a Victor. I will be Katniss's neighbor in the Village. And I'm expected to never even speak to her ever again. I wonder if Katniss got the same talk.

If I want to keep my family safe, I must do everything that President Snow has asked...no,  _told_...told me to do. I have to.

But I know that I can't. Not after twelve years. And not after Katniss finally knows how I feel about her.

And the price will be someone's life.


	20. CHAPTER 20

**CHAPTER 20**

**PART I**

"Oh, that looks simply  _wonderful_  on you!" Effie gushes as Portia examines me with a critical eye.

"Peeta, let your arms hang naturally...there, that's it," Portia says as she tugs on the back of the jacket, before brushing her hands along my shoulders.

I'm in my final fitting for the suit that I will be wearing for the Victor's Interview. Blue jacket with dark shirt and trousers. Very conservative. And I hate it.

I hate it because Snow personally directed Portia to dress me as conservatively as possible. Portia knows how much I hate this, yet she's as powerless to do something as simple as dress me how we...that is to say, Portia and I...want. To me, it's just another example of the control that Snow wields over us all.

Portia turns me slightly as Effie continues to beam at me, and I can't help but to return her smile. In spite of her superficial Capitol mannerisms, Effie truly cares about her District Twelve charges...even Haymitch...and is practically bursting with pride at being a Victor's Escort for the second consecutive year. I know she's still hoping for a plum assignment, but the Escorts for the Career districts have been assigned to their districts for a long time and show no signs of moving.

 _At least she's not vocal about wanting out of Twelve...at least not in front of Haymitch, Katniss, or me,_ I say to myself, as Portia gives a final tug to the back of my jacket and leads me to a trio of full length mirrors.

I walk slowly and carefully to the mirrors, even though they're only a few steps away. Atala has done wonders with my physical therapy over the last three days. I can now manage to walk short distances without using crutches, as long as I don't try to rush.

I examine myself in the mirror and nod. Even though I hate it, I have to admit that it fits perfectly. Haymitch, of course, is not happy. He's standing off to one side, a scowl etched on his face.

Haymitch's scowl is not lost on Portia, who turns to him and, with a hint of exasperation in her voice, says, "Okay, Haymitch, out with it. What's the problem now?"

"With the suit? Nothing," Haymitch replies. He's acutely aware that either Portia or myself did not make the choice of colors. "It's the walk."

I swivel my head around and frown as I repeat, "The 'walk?'"

"The walk," Haymitch repeats. "Kid, you look like you're walkin' on ice, afraid you're gonna slip and fall at any time."

"Haymitch, Peeta's done wonderfully adapting to his new leg," Portia says. "He just needs a little more time -"

"The Interview and Crowning are tonight," Haymitch says flatly. "'Time' is the one thing we don't have."

"Perhaps," Cinna's soft voice pipes up from the chair that he's been sitting in, as he observes the fitting, "all he needs is a little assistance." Cinna rises to his feet smoothly and reaches behind his chair, producing a beautiful, elegantly crafted cane.

"Snow said 'no crutches,' remember?" Haymitch says.

"And this isn't a crutch, Haymitch," Cinna says with a smile. "Besides, it will add some elegance and solemnity to Peeta's appearance tonight. Think of it as a 'practical fashion accessory,' rather than as a simple walking stick." Cinna hands me the cane. "Here, Peeta. Try it out."

I examine the cane closely. The shaft was dark, fine wood, capped on the top with a head of silver. The tip was silver as well, ending in a small rubber cap. I can see that the shaft is covered with fine engravings as well.

I clutch the head in my left hand and take a few practice steps, quickly getting the hang of how to use the cane and how to synchronize it with my steps. I may not be walking any faster, but I feel steadier and more confident.

"I like it," I announce.

Haymitch looks unconvinced. "Haymitch, if you're that concerned, I'll go talk to Seneca now and see if he can't put in a good word with the President. But personally, I think that you're worried for nothing." Cinna says reassuringly.

"Fine, Cinna," Haymitch grumbles. "You do that. Go talk to Seneca." And, so softly that I'm sure I'm the only one that heard him, he adds, "Maybe this favor will only cost a blow job this time."

And, as Portia quickly strips me out of my suit, allowing me to change back into shorts and a t-shirt, I wonder about what Haymitch said. And I keep wondering about it even after I return to my room.

* * *

For the past few days, I've been able to hold up my promise to President Snow and stay away from Katniss. Of course, the President has kept Katniss quite busy, giving her little free time to spend on me, or on anything...or anyone...else for that matter.

But Katniss still comes to see me whenever she can. And when she does, we talk, and sometimes we even laugh. And she never fails to hold my arm...or my hand...whenever she accompanies me on walks around the hospital. And I'm very careful not to mention a word about the purpose of my visit from President Snow, just as I'm very careful never to mention to Katniss my feelings for her.

President Snow may have told me to stay away from Katniss...but he apparently failed to tell her to stay away from me. And I'll be damned if I'm going to push her away.

Besides, we act so reserved around each other that there could be no doubt that we are anything other than friends, or possibly even mere acquaintances...Mentor and Tribute, perhaps. Even the kiss that Katniss never fails to give me is a chaste, almost sisterly, peck on my cheek when she leaves.

I've toyed with the idea of mentioning the purpose of Snow's visit to Haymitch. Of course, he knows that I was visited, as does Katniss. A Presidential visit is difficult to conceal, especially in a closed environment like Victor's Mercy. In the end, however, I decide to wait until we're back in Twelve, and we are able to duck away from the ever-present electronic eyes and ears of the Capitol.

I sigh and lay back on my bed. In a few hours my Prep Team will come and collect me up. I'll be formally discharged from Victor's Mercy and then, after a final round of scrubbing, tweezing and plucking, I'll be forced to sit through three hours of Victor's Interview, where Caesar Flickerman will replay the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games in excruciating detail, and President Snow will appear to officially crown me Victor.

Fuck all that. I just want out of here.

I want to return to District Twelve and attempt to make some sort of life for myself. As a Victor, I know I won't be allowed to do any sort of meaningful work. I also know that I won't be able to spread my wealth around through any sort of charitable acts...at least, not enough to make a difference. But, after having spent so much time with Gamma, I know that I want to do something with the Community Home. Maybe bake for them, or something.

Gamma opened my eyes to a lot of things...and I'm a better person from knowing her.

Her appearance to me, along with Gale Hawthorne, right after my nearly dead body was plucked from the arena, still bothers me. I haven't seen either Gale or Gamma since that day, and, although she's appeared in some of my nightmares, somehow I know that her appearance on the hovercraft was, well,  _different_. Not a dream  _or_  a hallucination. She and Gale were both  _really_  there.

I close my eyes. I still have a few hours yet. Maybe a short nap will -

"Fuck," I hear Gamma's voice say. "Takin' a  _nap_? Must be fuckin' nice..."

My eyes snap open. Gamma is sitting in the chair next to my bed, still wearing her Reaping clothing. I rub my eyes. She's still there.

"You're back," I croak lamely.

"Well, yeah,  _we_  are," Gamma says, as her eyes flicker to the end of my bed. I look, and see Gale standing there, examining a chart that's hanging at the end of my bed.

"Interesting reading," Gale says with a smirk as he tosses the chart onto the bed. He, too, is wearing his Reaping clothes again. "Now Gamma and I know, right down to the milliliter, how much you piss each day."

"What do you want?" I whisper.

"Snow knows that Katniss has been visiting you every day," Gamma says matter-of-factly.

"I figured that," I admit. "It's impossible to keep things a secret around here." I pause for a moment before I ask, "Is Snow pissed?"

"At himself," Gale chuckles. "For not realizing that Katniss just may be the one to come see  _you_ , instead of the other way around."

"Shit," I mutter. "That's bad." I feel my stomach knot up with fear as a half-dozen Snow retaliation scenarios play through my head.

"Not necessarily," Gale says. "As long as  _you_  are keeping your word in good faith...which you've done. And, as long as Katniss continues to..." Gale's voice trails off as his face clouds over.

"You know what she does, don't you?" I ask softly.

Gale glares at me angrily. "Yeah. Yeah I do. I know what she does." He practically spits the words.

"I...I think I know, too," I stammer. "But no one will talk about it."

"Oh?" Gale says sarcastically. "And what exactly do you think, Mellark?"

I take a deep breath. "That she...she...Snow makes her...I mean, people give Snow money so that Katniss will -"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Gamma says impatiently. "Just say it! Remember what I said during Training, Townie? She's Snow's whore!"

"Gamma!" Gale explodes. " _Fuck!_  Do you  _have_  to just  _say_  it like that?!"

I let Gamma's words sink in. Snow's whore. I had known, of course. But hearing my Gamma say it so bluntly was like a physical blow. My stomach churns and for a moment I'm afraid that I may just up and puke...right here, right now.

"Well, shit, Gale!" Gamma replies. "You and the Townie here pussyfoot around so much when it comes to Katniss Everdeen...but I ain't one to mince words! So yeah...I said it. Better that way, anyway."

"'Better,'" I repeat bitterly. "'Better' for who? For me? For Katniss?"

"For everyone," Gamma says in a remarkably gentle voice. "Now you know for sure. Now you know that she'll need you more than ever. And, like it or not, Gale...the Townie's gonna have to be the one."

Gale makes a disgusted noise and turns away. "What does that mean...'have to be the one?'" I ask.

"You'll figure it out...when you have to." Gamma replies cryptically.

"Come on, Gamma," Gale practically barks. "We gotta get going. We've told him what we needed to tell him." Gale turns to me. "Snow may try to push you a little tonight...make it look like you're the one at fault. He might even threaten your family." I suppress a shudder at this. "Just remember, he knows that you've been holding up your end." Gale snaps his fingers impatiently at Gamma, and earns a dirty look and an extended middle finger for his troubles. "Okay, we have to go now," Gale adds, ignoring Gamma's obscene gesture.

"Wait!" I shout. Gale looks back at me. "I have one more question."

"What is it?"

I take a deep breath. "What did Katniss whisper to you...in the cave...right before you died?"

Gale chuckles and shakes his head. "Nice try, Mellark. But I ain't tellin'. Maybe  _she_ ' _ll_  tell you, if you ask. Someday."

"We'll see you again sometime, Townie," Gamma says, patting my shoulder. "Remember what we said here. Oh, by the way, Husker and Evie said to say hi. They miss you."

"I miss them too," I murmur, as I realize that both Gale and Gamma are both gone now. Shit. I have more questions that I wanted to ask.

I'm suddenly, overwhelmingly tired. I realize with a shock that the whole encounter with Gale and Gamma was conducted with me never rising from my bed. I allow my eyes to flutter shut. And, as sleep descends on me once again, I wonder idly if the whole encounter was recorded for posterity, either through video or voice.

Because I don't want anyone, from President Snow himself to the Avox orderlies here in Victor's Mercy, to know that I talk to the dead.

**PART II**

"First of all, Peeta, congratulations." Caesar Flickerman is sitting across from me on the stage. The audience is out there...I know, because I can hear them plainly, even if I can't see anything past the edge of the stage due to the blinding lights that are on us...and the rest of my support team is arranged further back on the stage, behind Caesar and I. Haymitch and Katniss, of course, along with Effie, Portia, and my Prep Team.

_Almost done. No other interviews after this. They decided to combine everything into a single Quarter Quell extravaganza. I'll be home this time tomorrow._

"Thank you, Caesar," I reply smoothly. "Although getting me to this point was definitely a team effort."

"Peeta, you've accomplished something that has only been accomplished twice before," Caesar continues. "You've won a Quarter Quell." Enthusiastic applause erupts from the audience. Caesar waits for the applause to die down before continuing. "Not to mention that these Games are the shortest on record, by far." Scattered boos now from the audience.  _I wonder if they would be booing if they were plunked down in that hellish place and forced to survive and, oh, by the way, don't let the other Tributes kill you in the mean time._

Caesar continues, "Do you know who the previous record holder is for the shortest Games?"

I shake my head. "Not a clue, Caesar."

Caesar grins broadly. "None other than your Mentor, Haymitch Abernathy! How about  _that_ , folks?" More enthusiastic applause as Haymitch, at Caesar's urging, rises from his chair, waving and grinning to the audience.

Gradually the applause dies down and Haymitch sinks back into his chair. "The Second Quarter Quell lasted for about a week. The Third lasted for just under fifty-four hours. Your thoughts on this, Peeta?"

"Well," I reply slowly, "I believe the Second Quarter Quell had a field of forty-eight Tributes in a much larger arena. But, I'm sure Haymitch did his best anyway," I conclude with a grin.

The audience eats it up.

"Speaking of District Twelve Mentors," Caesar says, after the audience quieted yet again, "This year marks the first time in the history of District Twelve that  _two_  Mentors worked the Hunger Games, rather than just one. How did Katniss Everdeen perform as Mentor, Peeta?"

I glance back at Katniss, and I see that her face has already lapsed into that familiar impassive mask. "Technically, Caesar," I reply thoughtfully, "Katniss was Gamma Churchill's Mentor...although Gamma and I were Allies, so we both benefited from the decisions made by Katniss  _and_  Haymitch. But, from where I sit...Katniss, she was wonderful."

The audience roars out its approval. Caesar goads Katniss into rising and giving a quick smile and brief wave. I manage to catch her eye and flash her a quick grin of my own, and a small half-smile as Katniss returns to her seat rewards me.

_Fuck Snow. I can no more stay away from Katniss now than the sun can keep from rising in the morning._

"You mentioned your Ally and District partner, Gamma Churchill," Caesar continues. "Did you know her before the Games, Peeta?"

"No," I admit. "But I wish I had."

"Really," Caesar says. "Why is that?"

"Because Gamma was a person worth knowing," I reply. "And I think that everyone here would agree with me on that."

More applause. "Peeta, we've seen friends enter the arena before," Caesar continues. "Sometimes these friends must fight each other. Your thoughts on this?"

I decide not to mention my pact with my Alliance, where I told them that I would not, under any circumstances, kill any of them. "I'm glad it didn't come to that," I reply softly.

A collective sigh rises up from the audience. "She died in your arms, didn't she?" Caesar asks gently.

I nod. "Yes. Yes, she did." I pause for a moment. "I wouldn't be here right now if not for my Alliance."

"You're speaking of Husker Brown and Evie Applewhite from District Nine, of course," Caesar says.

I nod. "Yes."

"You had a fine Alliance, Peeta," Caesar says as the audience murmurs in assent. "But now, it's time to look to the future. Tell us...what's the first thing that you plan to do after arriving home back in District Twelve?"

"Sleep," I reply to laughter from the audience. "Hopefully for at least a week!"

"Oh?" Caesar says with raised eyebrows. "I would have thought that you would be well rested after a week in Victor's Mercy!"

"Caesar, hospitals are wonderful places if you are recovering from injuries, as I was," I say with a smile, "but they really suck for getting rest!" More laughter from the audience at this revelation. As the laughter fades away, Caesar leans in closer to me.

"Peeta, I'll ask the question that's on everyone's mind," Caesar continues. "When you were here before, you mentioned a girl back home."

Shit. I was hoping that he wouldn't bring that up. I resist the temptation to turn around and look at Katniss sitting behind me.

"Yes," I admit. "I did."

"And I seem to recall," Caesar says with a smile, "that you were quite pleased with yourself when you found a pearl in the oyster that you were eating." A hologram flashes up on stage, showing me sitting on the beach in the clock arena, grinning at a pearl that I was holding between thumb and forefinger. "Is there anyone in particular that you plan on giving that pearl to, once you get back home?"

"I -" I hesitate for a moment. "I don't want to rush things," I mumble.

Muttering from the audience. They don't like my answer. They were expecting a revelation from me. It takes every bit of willpower that I have to not turn around and look at Katniss.

Katniss. What must she be thinking right now? She knows that she was the one that I was talking about during the Tribute Interviews. I had confessed my feelings to her that night on the rooftop. I even had moments of defiance...in my head, of course...when thinking about her in the hospital. But now, when I have the chance to at least confirm to her what she means to me, I find that I can't.

I can't because I'm afraid. Not for me...afraid for my family. The most powerful man in Panem had threatened my family, which had pretty much turned their backs on me when I most needed their support.

But I just can't let them be killed because of me.

And it's not just about me, either. Katniss has a stake in this, too. What about her family? She's totally devoted to her sister. If something ever happened to Prim...

"Oh, Peeta," Caesar is saying. "Don't leave us hanging! 'Don't want to rush things?' You have to give us more than that!"

I shake my head. "No. That's it." I pause for a moment before adding, "Sorry."

Caesar leans back in his chair as the audience groans in disappointment. "Peeta, I think before we go any further, that we should view the recap of the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games." As the applause begins in the audience, Caesar swivels around and shouts, "What do  _you_  say, folks?"

The crowd erupts in a chorus of enthusiastic cheers and applause. And, as the lights dim and the holographic projection materializes, Caesar leans forward in his chair and touches my knee gently.

I frown slightly as I lean forward. "I thought now would be a good time to play the recap," Caesar practically whispers. "You look like you could use a break from talking."

"I could, thanks," I mutter. Caesar pats my knee, grins, and leans back in his chair, turning to watch the recap as he does so.

The recap was predictable...beginning with the Reading of the Card followed by quick shots of the Reapings (mine drew a buzz from the audience as they watch yet again as I Volunteer), which in turn is followed by the Tribute Parade (more  _ooohs_ and  _ahhhs_  from the audience). Generic still shots of us in the Training Center, mostly either listening to Atala talk or gathered in our little groups for lunch, followed by more quick shots of the Tribute Interviews. I'm relieved that there's no mention of my deal with Husker to kill Evie at Launch.

Thankfully I'm not expected to say anything during this presentation, even though I know that cameras cut to me occasionally for reaction shots. I just hope that I'm able to keep what I'm really thinking off my face. Every now and then I glance back toward Haymitch, who gives me a thumbs up signal each time. I take that as a positive sign that I haven't screwed things up too badly so far.

It's different once footage of the actual Games comes up. I watch the Launch, the bloodbath at the Cornucopia, Thalassa's death, and the total confusion of those first few hours. Miraculously finding Evie, the sudden attack by Husker, and finally linking up with Gamma, my Alliance now increased by one. Our constant struggle to find water and stave off dehydration.

And then, beginning at midnight, the horrors of the clock arena become apparent. Lightning storms, blood rain, poison fog...I watch as the recap shows the confusion that we were all experiencing as we tried to figure out if there was some kind of discernable pattern. I wince as I watch myself foolishly stick my hand into the poison fog.

Then, the first Feast...and the death of Lupa Stonehenge at the hands of Gamma Churchill. Much-needed medicine, a knife, and a mystery object whose purpose only becomes clear once I see the water leaking from the tree trunk. During the recap, I finally see the beast that tore apart the girl from District Eight...a horrid mutt-nightmare that made the mutt-snake that killed Silver and Evie look almost tame by comparison. And, finally, Gamma figuring out how the arena works...and the Gamemakers immediately confounding us by violently spinning Cornucopia Island and completely confusing the "clock."

I watch as my Alliance agrees to change tactics in the hope of catching the Careers off guard, only to find that the Careers changed tactics as well. I see just how close I came to dying when my pack deflects Ishmael's spear  _just enough_. And how I goad Ishmael into attacking me once I figure out how to use the force field to my advantage.

I glance back at Haymitch and Katniss as Ishmael's death plays out on the holo-projection. Haymitch looks grim. Katniss won't even look at me. I clutch my cane tighter.

Haymitch's cryptic remark earlier comes back to me now... "Maybe this favor will only cost a blow job this time." Cinna was going to talk to Seneca, in the hope that Seneca would intercede with President Snow regarding my using a cane. Apparently that permission was given...and, with a sinking feeling deep in my gut, I realize that a price was probably paid for me to have the privilege of being able to walk without falling flat on my face.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to drive the unwanted images from my brain, even as the recap plays on. As it happens, Evie's death scene is playing out on the holo-projection at that time so I'm sure that everyone watching is thinking that I'm reacting to Evie's horrible death. Truthfully, I'm not sure which is worse...a fourteen-year-old girl dying a nightmare death in the jaws of a mutt, or the thought of Katniss being forced, once again, to do something against her will...in order to help me.

Laughter from the audience now as Husker and Gamma's tryst plays out with me blissfully sleeping away literally right next to them, before they are interrupted by the lightning storm. A split image follows, showing Aurora and Lexus laying their ambush on Cornucopia Island as Gamma, Husker and myself move into position for the second Feast. The images come quickly...Gamma's mad dash to the Feast Table, with Husker covering her...Lexus exploding out from his hiding place immediately followed by Husker launching his spear at him...a spinning knife and a close up of that same knife burying itself in Gamma's side.

The battle between Husker and Lexus as I stumble out of the water to help my Allies. Husker, grievously wounded, managing to land the last blow, tearing out Lexus' throat with his sickle, turning to me in triumph, only to fall dead with Aurora's arrow jutting from the back of his skull. Me, with an arrow sticking out of my calf, throwing my knives in desperation, somehow managing to incapacitate Aurora long enough for a wounded Gamma and I to get away.

Holding Gamma in my arms as she slowly and painfully dies.  _Is she_ really _dead, though? I've talked to her twice since then...at least, I_ think _I've talked to her. Or was it all a dream?_  The audience, which had been clapping and cheering the fight on Cornucopia Island, is now silent as I watch the recap of Gamma's death. Somehow I manage not to cry.

Another split screen as Aurora and I treat our wounds. My signal fire, beckoning Aurora to the final battle. And the battle itself, shockingly brief, as Aurora's final arrow strikes home, piercing my lung even as I fire my last steel ball from my slingshot, and I finally see how I managed to hit her. I didn't have enough time to raise the slingshot up and take real aim, so I let loose a desperation shot. It would have missed Aurora entirely...but she had been diving off to one side even as she lets her arrow fly and I release the sling simultaneously. By pure, dumb luck, Aurora had dived directly into the path of the steel projectile.

Caesar is explaining to the audience that the ball had struck Aurora's head with such force that it fractured her skull and that the blow itself would have eventually been fatal, even as the holo-projection shows me kneeling over Aurora's body and driving my knife into her throat. The final cannon blast is immediately followed by the sound of trumpets and the announcement that I had won, even as I was collapsing, unconscious, on the beach.

The holo-projection slowly fades away as the house lights come on, and the audience rises as one to give me a standing ovation. With the aid of my cane, I rise to my feet, smiling and waving to the crowd. As the applause dies away, Caesar ushers me back to my seat again.

"Peeta," he begins softly. "You weren't immediately aware that you had won. When did you find out?"

"Probably when I woke up in Victor's Mercy," I reply with a grin. The audience laughs.

"You may not have been aware of this before," Caesar continues slowly, "but you set another Hunger Games record...you have the distinction of being the most grievously wounded Tribute to ever win the Hunger Games." Wild applause and cheers from the audience at this revelation.

"I didn't know," I murmur.

"And, like any difficult quest, your Victory was not without a price," Caesar says. "I'm speaking, of course, of your leg."

Confused murmurs rise from the audience. Clearly no one in the general population of either the Capitol or Panem as a whole knows about the loss of my leg.

"I would just like to thank the staff at Victor's Mercy for my excellent care," I say slowly, and then add, "especially Doctors Nivosus and Wellgood. I've never had finer care anywhere." That last part was true...as I had never even seen a real doctor until my stay in Victor's Mercy.

"Peeta, I don't think that everyone is aware of what we are discussing here," Caesar says gently. "Would you mind standing up so we can show everyone?"

I nod and rise from my seat, then I self-consciously grasp my left trouser leg and pull it up. The gasp from the audience confirms what I already knew...that no one had any idea of the true extent of my injuries.

"As I understand it, Peeta, the loss of your leg was caused by the use of a tourniquet?" Caesar asks.

I nod. "Yes, Caesar. I was bleeding badly. It was the only way I could save my own life."

A collective groan rises up from the audience.  _Are you trying to feel my pain?_ Caesar lays a hand on my shoulder gently. "Such courage," he murmurs. "Such determination! Right, folks?"

The audience roars out its approval as they leap to their feet, applauding wildly. I smile and wave, and wish that this night were over. But there was one more ceremony to conduct.

"And now," Caesar announces, "the moment that you have all been waiting for! The crowning of the Victor of the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games...Peeta Mellark of District Twelve!"

The Panem National Anthem booms out as President Snow, followed by a little girl carrying a small golden crown on a velvet pillow, steps out from the left side of the stage. He walks slowly, acknowledging the crowd with a dignified wave of his hand, and stops before me.

The overpowering stench of blood and roses assails my nostrils as his eyes bore into mine. He smiles, his puffy lips stretching over his teeth, as he places one hand on my shoulder, squeezing it firmly before turning away and carefully picking up the crown between both hands, and then turning back to me.

"Congratulations," he murmurs softly, as he gently places the crown on my head. "You have represented District Twelve with courage and honor."

"Thank you, sir," I reply softly.

"And remember our talk, my boy," he says as he grasps my hand. "I would hate to think that you've forgotten so soon."

"I remember, President Snow. And I've done what you've said." I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as I speak. "But it will be impossible to completely avoid her."

"Understood," Snow replies. "As long as you limit your contacts to public gatherings and Games-related functions, I will consider that you are honoring my directive." Snow pauses for a moment before adding, "I like you, Peeta. Be careful."

Snow then turns and faces the audience, smiles and waves once more, and then strides off the stage. He doesn't look back.

And I don't dare turn around to even look at Katniss.

**PART III**

"Can I get you something, Mr. Mellark?"

I glance up, slightly startled by the appearance of a Capitol attendant standing before me. I had been examining the engravings on my cane. It's the first opportunity that I've had to take a close look at the workmanship.

"Yes, please," I murmur. "Some hot chocolate would be nice."

The attendant smiles. "Right away, sir."

"Sure you don't want somethin' a little stronger?" Haymitch asks, as he stretches and yawns from his easy chair across the lounge car. He holds up a silver hip flask and waggles it at me.

"I'll pass," I reply dryly, before adding, "I thought you were sleeping."

"Naw," he chuckles, "just checkin' my eyelids for pinholes."

We're about a half hour out of the Capitol. As soon as I was Crowned, the show ended and we were hustled to the train station, after a brief stop at Victor's Mercy to pick up what personal belongings I had that were still there.

Everything that I owned was at Victor's Mercy. Evie's small pack with the utility knife, spile, and pearl, as well as the drawings and my letter to Katniss that Snow had so thoughtfully left for me after our visit. I had asked Portia about those, as I had requested that she recover and destroy them once I was Launched.

"I'm so sorry, Peeta," Portia had said. "There was no paper in your room by the time I had returned to the Penthouse."

I simply nodded and thanked her for trying. Chalk one up to Snow and his efficiency.

I don't even have to get out of the car when we arrived at Victor's Mercy. One of the Avox orderlies runs my belongings...now in a small duffle bag...out to the car. As he hands me the bag, I smile and sign "Thank you" to him using the Amsalan sign language. This prompts a large grin from the orderly, who signs, "You're welcome" in response.

Cressida and her crew are riding with me. Haymitch and Katniss are riding together as they both needed to pick up their belongings from the Penthouse. Effie will be riding with them as well. Once we were backstage Katniss barely even looked at me, and said nothing, as I was saying my goodbyes to Caesar Flickerman, as well as Portia and Cinna. I fervently hope that I get a chance to explain myself to her on the train.

_If I could only explain to her what's going on. I must look like a real asshole to her. I basically tell her that I love her and then I tell literally everyone in the world "I don't want to rush things."_

"You did that well," Cressida says with a smile as the big car pulls away from Victor's Mercy.

"I only know a few phrases," I admit. "'Thank you,' 'please,' 'you're welcome,' 'hello,' and 'goodbye.'"

Pollux grins at me and signs something rapidly. Even Cressida was unable to keep up. Fortunately Castor is there to translate for us.

"He said, 'it's a good start.'" Castor hesitates for a moment. "More than most people would bother with."

The ride to the train station was a short one. I find that we have beaten Haymitch and Katniss to the train. We all quickly board (Cressida and her crew were going to accompany us back to District Twelve as part of her assignment to shadow Katniss through her first Games as a Mentor) and I locate my room. It's the same Tribute Train that I rode to the Capitol in just a few weeks before, although this trip will be a little more comfortable for Cressida and her crew, as one more room was available for use.

This, of course, was the room used by Gamma Churchill on the trip out. Gamma is with us, of course...nestled in a simple, yet elegant, casket in the refrigerator car. I vow to pay her a visit soon.

As soon as I'm in my room, I change out of the suit that I wore to my Crowning and into a pair of loose fitting pants and a t-shirt. I toss the suit into a corner of the room. I really don't care what happens to it after tonight. While I'm changing I feel the train lurch slightly and I know that we are moving. Moving back to District Twelve. Moving back towards home.

I should feel elated. Instead, I feel empty.

I had gone straight to the lounge car after changing, only to find that Haymitch had beaten me there. I realize that he had probably come straight here after boarding the train, not bothering to change clothes, and stopping in his room just long enough to toss his bags on the floor before getting down to some serious drinking.

I can't fault him for that. He's earned it. Besides, he appears to be asleep. And, right now, I really don't feel much like talking. Of course, the attendant coming in either woke him up, or he decided that his eyelids were, in fact, free of pinholes.

Haymitch is taking a healthy pull on his flask when the attendant returns with my hot chocolate. I thank him as I take the cup and take a small sip. The attendant smiles and reminds me to call if I need "anything, anything at all."

Haymitch and I sit in silence as I stare out the window into the blackness of the night. I haven't seen anyone else since we boarded the train. Well, it is fairly late. I take another sip of my drink and yawn. Fatigue begins to settle in over me. I should probably get to bed, but I want to stay up in case Katniss decides to come in. If I can somehow make her understand that what I'm doing is not my idea -

"Why are you still up?" A female voice asks.

I jerk awake, trying to blink the sleep from my eyes. "Katniss?"

"Sorry, no," the voice says with a chuckle. I bring my eyes into focus at the smiling woman sitting across from me.

"Oh. Cressida. Hi." I mutter. I look around the lounge. Haymitch is gone.

"Why are you still up, Peeta?" Cressida repeats. She's looking at me closely, a concerned look on her face.

I shrug. "I don't know," I lie. "Just not tired, I guess."

Cressida chuckles softly. "I thought you were going to 'sleep for a week.' But here you are, dozing uncomfortably in a lounge car easy chair."

I smile sheepishly. "It's harder than I thought," I say quietly.

"What's that, Peeta?" Cressida asks me gently.

"Turning it off."

Cressida nods thoughtfully. "I think I understand."

I shake my head. "No, you don't. There's no way you could ever understand."

"I see your point." Cressida takes a sip from a teacup that she's holding in one hand. "You really should get some rest."

"I haven't seen anyone else but you and Haymitch since boarding the train," I say, ignoring her suggestion.

Cressida smiles. "Don't worry. We're all here." She pauses for a moment. "I spoke with Katniss earlier, in fact."

"Oh?" I try to keep my voice nonchalant.

"For the piece that I'm doing about her first Games as a Mentor," Cressida explains. She sighs in frustration. "It would have been easier to interview a statue. Every response she gave me was in three words or less. I just don't understand it. She's never been the most talkative...but tonight was positively brutal."

I know exactly why Katniss isn't talking. Me. More specifically, my responses to Caesars questions during the Victor's Interview. How confused she must be! The night before I go into the arena, I confess my feelings to her. She had to have known why I was smiling when I was looking at the pearl. Haymitch even told me how much Katniss was talking me up to other Mentors during the Games.

To be fair, Katniss had never said or done anything that would indicate that she returned my feelings. But it was clear from her infrequent hospital visits that she considered me more than just another Tribute. And tonight, when Caesar asks me point blank who the pearl is for, I tell him that I "don't want to rush things."

I need to explain to Katniss why I had to say that. I need to let her know that Snow is controlling  _me_  as much as he's controlling her. I know what that must have sounded like to her...newly Crowned Victor suddenly doesn't need the poor, skinny Seam girl any more. I knew what a reputation that some Victors had...no lack of female companionship, a different girl (or boy) every night, and a lifestyle of hedonism and debauchery.  _Is that how she views_ me _now?_

I have to be extremely careful with Katniss. One wrong move on my part and someone in my family will soon suffer an unfortunate fatal "accident." But I need to make her understand somehow...and I realize that Cressida is in a perfect position to help me.

"I'll be right back," I mutter as I rise to my feet, clutching the cane as I begin to make my way to my room. "Don't go anywhere."

I don't wait for a reply. Once in my room, I grab the letter and the pencil drawings out of my small duffle bag before hurrying back to the lounge car. I breathe a small sigh of relief that Cressida is still there when I return.

She looks up at me, confusion on her face, when I enter the lounge. "Peeta, what -"

I put my finger to my lips and wordlessly hand her the letter and the drawings. She takes the sheaf of papers and leafs through them with a small smile, nodding at the drawings...especially the drawing of "Warrior Katniss"...until she gets to the letter. She reads the letter carefully, frowning a bit as she does so, before carefully bundling the papers back up and handing them back to me.

She makes a sign in Amsalan that I understand: "Follow me." I nod.

"Peeta, you really need to get some sleep," she says as she makes her way toward the lounge car exit.

As I follow her I pick up on her lead and reply, "I know. You're right. Snow knows I need it."

We walk through the sleeper car as she continues with "Listen. We'll talk more in the morning, okay?"

"Sure," I reply. "You sleep well."

"You too," she replies as we exit the sleeper car. The next car is marked "Comm Center and Main Server." Cressida opens the first door on the right and all but pushes me inside, and then she follows me in and shuts the door.

The room is tiny and cramped, with a hot "electrical" smell in the air. "We can talk," she says quietly. "Too much electronic interference in here for the bugs to be effective. Just keep your voice down."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Cressida inclines her head toward the sheaf of paper. "Does she know?"

I shake my head. "Only you and Portia."

"Portia?" Cressida asks with a frown. I quickly explain how I had asked Portia to dispose of the papers for me when she returned to the Training Center, and how she had told me that the papers were gone by the time she had returned to the Capitol.

Cressida nods thoughtfully. "That's it. The Launch Rooms at the Stockyards are all bugged. Your room was probably searched within minutes of your talk with Portia."

"Shit," I mutter. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"Probably not," Cressida agrees, "but what's done is done. Does Katniss know about the letter and the drawings?"

I shake my head. "No. At least I haven't told her." I tell her about my visit from President Snow while I was still recovering at Victor's Mercy.

Cressida's face darkens. "It's all about absolute control," she mutters.

"What?" I ask.

Cressida shakes her head. "Nothing. One more thing...does Katniss have any idea how you really feel about her?"

"Yes," I nod. "I told her the night before Launch. We were on the roof together." I pause for a moment. "I really blew it with her, huh?"

"I doubt that," Cressida replies with a smile. "Peeta, if she didn't have  _some_  feelings for you, she wouldn't be acting the way she is."

"Shit," I mutter. "How am I supposed to explain anything to her? Every place on this train is bugged...well,  _almost_  every place."

Cressida thinks for a moment. "Tomorrow morning the train will stop to take on fuel. You're going to need to stretch your legs. And Katniss, whether she knows it or not, will have to stretch her legs also. Fuel stops take about thirty minutes...and the District Six Transportation workers despise the Capitol. You won't have to worry about bugs or about them saying anything."

I grin. "Do you think she'll listen?"

Cressida shrugs. "Who knows? But my bet is that she will."

I nod, suddenly very sleepy. "I think I'll get some sleep now."

"You do that," Cressida replies with a grin, before leaning forward and kissing my cheek. "You have a big day tomorrow!"

"You sound like Effie," I laugh.

"I do at that!" She pauses with her hand on the door latch, and says. "I'll get her outside. The rest is up to you." She kisses my cheek again. "Now get some sleep!"

She doesn't have to tell me twice.

* * *

The next morning, during breakfast, I feel the train begin to slow.

Everyone else feels it, too. "Fuel stop," Haymitch mutters as he lifts a fork full of omelet to his mouth.

I glance out the windows. The land looks fairly flat on both sides of the train, with only a few low hills sprinkled here and there. On one side of the train, way off in the distance near the horizon, I can just barely make out what look like towers of some kind. The other side of the train is pretty much featureless plain.

"Where are we?" I ask.

Haymitch jerks one thumb over his shoulder without looking up from his breakfast. "District Five's that way." He points out the window on the opposite side of the train. "Ten's over there. We're in the Badlands, kid," he says with a grin.

"Between districts, you mean?" Cressida asks. Castor and Pollux have taken positions on opposite sides of the dining car and are recording, while Cressida has joined us for breakfast.

"Yep," Haymitch replies as he tears off a piece of biscuit and pops it in his mouth. "But don't worry. Fuel stations are virtual forts. Besides, there hasn't been an out-district incident in years."

I, of course, had heard stories about out-district raiders attacking trains and even settlements near district boundaries in some of the larger districts, such as Ten and Eleven. But somehow, knowing that  _we_  were traveling between districts ourselves made these old stories somehow seem all that much more real.

"What are those towers over there?" I ask as I point out the window. Haymitch twists his head around and peers out the window towards where he said District Five was.

"Wind turbines," he says after gazing out the window for a few moments. "Big propellers mounted on towers. The wind turns them and they generate electricity. We're pretty close to the District Five boundary if we can see them."

I turn back to my breakfast. Katniss is sitting at the opposite end of the table from me, near Cressida. She's spoken exactly four words to me since we've boarded the train: "Good morning," when I first saw her in the dining car this morning, and "Excuse me," when we both reached for a roll while filling our plates at the buffet table.

I guess I can take solace in the fact that she hasn't spoken much to anyone, at least so far as I've seen. I just hope that Cressida convinces her to take a walk while the train is refueling.

I finish eating without much appetite as the train continues to slow down. We all watch as the train pulls off on what Haymitch calls a "siding" and enters the fueling station through a massive gate, smoothly gliding to a stop.

A voice booms out of the intercom. "Fuel stop. Thirty minutes. Passengers may disembark at this time but are reminded to remain in the vicinity of the train."

I glance quickly at Cressida, who nods almost imperceptibly, and then at Katniss, who's gazing out one of the windows as District Six workers begin to refuel the train.

I make my way out of the dining car back to my room, where I retrieve the letter and drawings, and, almost as an afterthought, I grab the pearl out of Evie's pack. I place the sheaf of paper in an inner pocket of the light jacket that I've slipped on and drop the pearl into my pants pocket.

I quickly exit my room, carefully making my way down the narrow corridor, clutching my cane tightly. Just before I reach the large, glass covered observation car, Cressida intercepts me, leans close to my ear, and whispers, "She's outside."

In response I nod and give her a small, nervous smile, before quickly making my way to the exit, where a single Capitol attendant is posted.

"Getting some air," the attendant asks as she pulls the door open for me.

"Yes," I reply. "Thank you."

"Stay near the train, sir," the attendant advises. "We leave in twenty-seven minutes."

"I will," I promise as I step off the train. I glance toward the front of the train, where District Six workers are busy with refueling, and then towards the rear of the train, where I spy Katniss slowly strolling along the tracks, stopping once to pick something up before continuing on.

I take a deep breath before setting off in her direction, my feet and cane crunching in the heavy gravel near the train tracks.

* * *

"Katniss."

I know she can hear me coming. It would be impossible to creep up on someone while walking in this coarse gravel.

Katniss glances back toward me once, her face impassive but her eyes cold, before deliberately turning her back on me and continuing her stroll down the tracks.

"Katniss!" I call out, louder this time, and then I add, "Wait. Please."

Katniss stops but doesn't turn around, her back stiff, her hands clenched into fists by her side. She says nothing.

I stop a couple of steps behind her, puffing slightly from the unexpectedly arduous task of balancing my prosthetic leg on the uneven rocks near the tracks. "Two minutes. That's all I ask."

Katniss makes no move, no sound. I forge ahead. "Snow came to see me," I say without preamble. "In the hospital."

Katniss's back stiffens even more at the sound of Snow's name. "I know." She turns around slowly, facing me for the first time. "But I don't know why."

"Remember the night before the Games? When we talked on the roof?"

"Yes," Katniss replies quietly.

I reach into my jacket pocket. "I...I didn't know if I would have a chance to talk to you...you know, before." I stammer. "So I...I got some paper and a pencil and I...wrote you this."

I thrust the bundle of paper toward Katniss. She reaches out slowly, taking the paper from me, and carefully examines each drawing, lingering on my "Warrior Katniss" image. I see the corners of her mouth twitch in what could be a smile as she looks at the drawings. Katniss then reads the letter carefully before looking back at me.

"Pencil and paper is supposed to be contraband for a Tribute. How did you get this?"

"Lavinia...the Avox servant. She's been transferred from the Training Center. Cressida said she would try to find out where she was sent to." I pause for a moment before continuing. "Katniss, after we...talked...I decided not to give you the letter. There wasn't any need anymore. So I asked Portia to destroy everything...but my room was searched before Portia got back to the Capitol."

"And that's why Snow came to see you," Katniss says slowly, examining the paper. "Because of this."

"He told me to stay away from you," I say in a rush. "He said that you had other important 'duties' and that my attentions would be a 'distraction' to you." I kick at a rock with my right foot...my "real" foot...in frustration. "I shoulda never said anything to Portia. It's my fault."

"This is why you've been acting so...distant," she says. "He threatened your family, didn't he?"

"Yes," I say miserably. "And, as shitty as they've treated me lately, I just couldn't..."

"I know," Katniss says grimly. She looks at me with eyes that are infinitely sad. "Remember what I told you? On the roof that night?"

I nod. "You said, 'be careful what you wish for.'"

"You understand now, don't you?"

"Yes," I choke out. "I do."

Katniss looks at the papers clutched in her hand. "The drawings are really good," she says softly. "Especially this one." She holds up "Warrior Katniss." "Is this how you really see me?"

I can feel my face and neck flushing. "Sometimes. In my dreams."

"And what are your dreams like now?" She asks quietly.

I shudder slightly. "Different."

Katniss nods, and then looks down at the letter. "Everything you told me that night...it's in here."

"Yes," I reply. "Everything."

Katniss looks up at me. "Can I...can I keep these?"

"I wrote the letter for you," I reply with a shy smile. "And the drawings...yes. If you want them."

"I do," she says, her voice almost a whisper. "They can remind me that there is good in this world."

"Am I good, Katniss?" I ask, taking a single step closer to her.

"You always have been," she replies, clutching the papers tightly.

I take a deep breath as I make a decision, and then I fish the pearl out of my pocket. "Here," I mumble, thrusting my hand out toward her. "It's for you. It always was."

Katniss looks stricken. "Peeta," she moans, "I...I can't..."

"Please, Katniss," I practically beg. "Take it." She shakes her head and presses one hand to her mouth; her eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Do you know what I am?" She chokes out.

"I know what he makes you do," I reply softly. "I know that you are forced to...to..."

"I'm a whore," Katniss wails softly. "A whore, Peeta. I fuck whoever Snow tells me to fuck. I do it, and I smile, and I thank them, and in return Snow pays me by letting Prim live." She pushes my hand away. "You're a good guy, Peeta. I know this. But I can't...I don't...I won't  _ever_...love..."

Katniss abruptly pushes by me and stumbles back toward the train. In my still-weakened state I have no chance of catching her, and can only lurch slowly in her wake. By the time I re-board the train, Katniss is nowhere in sight.

Thankfully I don't run into anyone as I make my way back to my room. Katniss, of course, is nowhere in sight. Once in my room, I carefully replace the pearl in Evie's pack before sinking down onto my bed. I stare at the wall, my mind whirling, for a few minutes until a knock on the door rouses me.

"Peeta?" Effie calls out. "Are you in there?"

"Yes, Effie," I reply irritably. "What do you want?"

"Nothing, dear." Effie sounds hurt. Shit. I didn't mean to snap at her. "I was just making sure you were back on board. The train is getting ready to leave."

"I'm here, Effie," I say wearily as I lie back on my bed and stare at the ceiling.

I had one chance... _one chance_...to make things right with Katniss. And I failed. I failed because Snow ruined her. Not physically. He ruined her mentally.

"I can't...I don't...I won't  _ever_  love." She spoke those words to me. And, as the train lurches slightly as it begins to move once again, I fully understand what those words truly mean.

Katniss Everdeen won't...cant...love anyone. Ever.

Including me.

* * *

Less than an hour after we leave the fueling station, Effie bustles into the lounge car with an announcement.

"We'll be crossing the Great River in a few minutes! It's quite a sight if you've never seen it before!"

I'm glad that I decided not to mope in my room. There would be too many unwanted questions if I did, anyway. So I had relocated to the lounge car and had been sipping on a cup of tea when Effie came in with her announcement.

The Great River. Even as fast as we are going, it would still take over a minute for the train to cross it. I remember that Gamma had been disappointed that we had crossed it at night on the trip to the Capitol. I slowly rise to my feet. There's something that I know I must do.

I carefully make my way through the train to the very last car...what the District Six workers refer to as a "reefer" car. I push the door open and I'm greeted by a blast of frigid air. I shiver slightly as I step into the small, dimly lit car.

Haymitch Abernathy glances up in irritation, his features softening somewhat when he sees that it's me. He's sitting on a small folding chair next to a rectangular wooden box, with one hand resting on the lid.

The box is Gamma Churchill's coffin.

"Figured you'd be by eventually," Haymitch says.

"Do you ride back here often?" I ask, as I look around the small car for any windows. I notice a few small, square windows, shuttered with wooden covers.

"Every year," Haymitch says. "At least for part of the trip. I kept Gale Hawthorne company last year." Haymitch frowns when he sees me begin to uncover the windows, letting in the light from outside. "What the hell are you doin'?"

"Effie said we're getting ready to cross the Great River," I reply as I continue to uncover the windows. There's only six, and they're not very big...maybe thirty centimeters to a side. "I don't want Gamma to miss it. It was dark when we crossed on the trip out." I uncover the last window and peer out. "There. All done."

Haymitch nods in understanding. Or maybe we're both crazy, thinking that uncovering a few small windows in a freezing reefer car so a dead girl can "see" the Great River is a totally natural thing to do.

I see the Great River before we actually start to cross. "Wow," I breathe. "That's amazing."

Haymitch smiles. "It's somethin', ain't it, kid?"

The Great River stretches off into the distance as far as the eye can see on both sides of the train. By comparison, the river that partially runs through District Twelve is a rain gutter.

"How long is it?" I ask quietly as the train begins to cross the bridge.

"Not sure," Haymitch replies. "I'm told it starts in District Nine and flows into the Southern Sea through District Four."

"Incredible," I mutter. And, for the next couple of minutes, I keep up a running commentary on what I'm seeing out those small, dirty windows. I like to think that Gamma would have appreciated it.

And, as far as Haymitch Abernathy is concerned, it was the most natural thing in the world to do.

**PART IV**

"Haymitch, I was at Katniss's Homecoming last year. I know what to expect," I say in exasperation.

We're all sitting in the observation car...my entire support team and myself. Haymitch, Katniss, Effie, as well as Cressida and her crew. We're about two hours from District Twelve. And, with every passing minute, I find myself getting more and more nervous.

What kind of reception will I get? Will I be greeted enthusiastically, like Katniss was last year, or will there be too many people there that still believe all of those disproved rumors about me? And what about my family? How will  _they_  react? And, an even bigger question...how will  _I_  react when I see them?

Haymitch looks at me with an amused expression on his face. "Well, excuse me, Mr. Victor!" He turns and looks at Katniss. "Shit, Sweetheart, we're wastin' our time here." Haymitch stands up. "What say you and I skedaddle to the lounge car and finish the rest of the trip the right way."

Katniss doesn't move. Effie looks from Haymitch back to me, clenching her hands together in her lap in frustration. "Haymitch, sit down!" She barks. "And Peeta, stop this nonsense this instant! Young man, I'm sorry, but you have no idea  _what_  to expect after our arrival back in Twelve!"

Shocked at Effie's outburst, Haymitch does the only thing that he can do. He sits back down. And I turn to listen, embarrassed at having upset Effie for the second time today.

Effie looks first at Haymitch, then at me, before saying, with a note of triumph in her voice, "That's much better! Haymitch...do please continue."

Haymitch glares at Katniss, who's trying...and failing...to conceal a small grin at the older Mentors' discomfiture. It was the first time I've seen Katniss smile since our...talk...at the refueling station. Her smile disappears when she catches me looking at her. I can feel myself flush and I turn away.

Fortunately, Haymitch chooses that moment to pick up where he left off. "Okay. Back to business." He turns back to me. "Peeta, here's the rough game plan for what will happen in the first day or so after we get back to Twelve."

Haymitch pauses for a moment and I say to myself,  _first_  day _or so? When is my time my own again?_

Haymitch continues, "Our arrival at the train station is public. Expect total chaos there. Your family'll meet you...and I don't give a rat's ass how much they've fucked you over in the past year, you  _will_  greet them warmly. Homecoming is no place to air your dirty laundry. Got it?"

"Got it," I mutter, nodding.

"Good," Haymitch replies. "Look, kid, I can't say as I blame you for being bitter. Just try to remember that Homecoming is broadcast all over Panem. Smile, hug them...yes, even your mother...and generally look happy at being reunited with them."

"Okay," I say quietly. Truthfully, I  _have_  been feeling homesick lately. Too much time to think while in Victor's Mercy, I guess. It won't be difficult to show happiness at seeing my family again...even my mother.

It's anyone's guess, however, as to how long that joy will last.

"You'll be given the chance to say a few words at the train station," Haymitch continues. "My advice to you is to keep it short, sweet, and happy. Once we leave the train station we'll be taken to the Justice Building. You and Effie will be put up in VIP quarters there. Don't worry; it's just for one night. There will be a reception tonight at the Mayor's Residence, and you take possession of your mansion in the Village tomorrow." Haymitch glance at Effie. "Anything to add, Princess?"

"Parcel Day," Effie replies absently, her eyes never leaving her scheduler.

"Right," Haymitch says. "But that's a couple of weeks off. Plenty of time to discuss that later. Oh, and I almost forgot. You'll visit the bank tomorrow. They'll show you how to access your Victor's account from anywhere in Panem. Your first payment should be in your account by then, too. Don't spend it all in one place." I glance sharply at Haymitch to see if his last sentence was some kind of joke. He's not smiling.  _Haymitch had dropped hints about how the Capitol tracks how Victors spend their money. Of course, that only applies to district businesses. We can spend all we want ordering from Capitol businesses._

Haymitch looks at me, his eyebrows raised. "Questions, kid?"

"What about Gamma?" I ask bluntly.

Haymitch frowns slightly. "What about her? She's a ward of Panem, kid. Someone from the Capitol Liaison's office will meet the train and claim her remains. They'll take care of burial arrangements in Tribute Gardens."

"That's it?" I ask bitterly. "Dump her in the ground and forget about her?"

Haymitch sighs heavily. "Kid, no one is expecting you to forget about her. And I know that you and her got pretty close. Listen...day after tomorrow, once you are settled in and the cameras are all gone, we'll take a walk out to the cemetery and pay Gamma a visit in Tribute Gardens. Okay?"

I nod, reluctantly. "Okay."

Haymitch grins. "Alright. If no one has anything else, my suggestion is that we take the next couple of hours to pack up whatever personal belongings we may have and maybe relax a bit before the shitstorm."

I swivel my chair around and stare out the window. The terrain here is different...rolling hills and expanses of forest.  _It's really beautiful. No wonder Katniss loves the forest so much..._

Katniss. I have to stop thinking about her. It hurts too much to think about her. But, no matter how hard I try, I can't push her out of my mind...

"Getting excited?" Cressida's soft voice interrupts my thoughts.

I glance over at her as she gracefully settles in to the chair directly across from me. "Nervous is more like it."

She smiles warmly at me. "Don't worry. You're a natural, Peeta. Not too many people take to the cameras like you do. You'll do fine."

I shrug. "I guess."

Cressida looks at me questioningly. "Did you?"

I know what she's asking. Did I speak with Katniss? I nod.

"And?" And how did it turn out? What did she say? I shake my head slowly.

Cressida looks at me sympathetically and leans over, taking my hand in hers and squeezing gently. She puts her mouth close to my ear and whispers, "I'm sorry."

I nod. "Thanks," I mutter, before adding, "So, how long will you be in Twelve?"

Cressida quickly picks up on my unspoken plea of "Can we please change the subject?" I guess that's part of what makes her such a good correspondent.

"I leave the day after tomorrow," she replies. "After you move into the Village. I'll be staying in the VIP suites in the Justice Building tonight also."

"What about the rest of your crew?" I ask.

"Transient quarters in the Capitol Liaison compound," Cressida replies. "I've stayed in them before. Comfortable, but not exactly luxurious...but then again, the VIP suites in the Justice Building aren't much of an improvement."

"I bet you're anxious to finish up this assignment and get back home," I say.

"I am...but it's bittersweet," she replies slowly. "I've become very fond of all of you. Katniss, Haymitch...and especially you, Peeta," she adds with a sad smile. "I've already asked to be assigned to cover your Victory Tour."

I sigh inwardly. I haven't even gotten home yet and she's already talking about the Victory Tour! That's six months away!  _I don't believe it,_  I say to myself.  _Doesn't she realize..._

And then it hits me. Cressida  _does_  realize how painful all this is...to Haymitch, to Katniss, and to me. She realizes it...and that's why she's asked to cover my Victory Tour. She's not some clueless Capitol correspondent looking to make a name for herself. She understands...or at least sympathizes...with what all of us, as Victors, had to go through to earn that title. And I can't think of anyone that I would rather have covering my Victory Tour than Cressida and her crew.

"That would be great," I say with a smile. "Do you think you'll get it?"

"Caesar has all but guaranteed me the job," Cressida replies with a smile of her own.

Maybe having Cressida along will take some of the sting out of having to be so close to Katniss for so long...for I'm sure she will be accompanying me on the Tour, as well as Haymitch.

I'm sure President Snow will have plenty of "Games Business" that requires her "personal" attention.

* * *

"Okay, kid," Haymitch is saying, "it's almost showtime."

I stare out the window in the observation car as the train creeps slowly to a stop in the District Twelve station.  _Holy shit. All these people!_  The platform is jammed full of district residents.

And they're all cheering.

They're cheering, and clapping, and smiling. These same people that, a year ago, hated me, reviled me, saw me flogged for a crime that I didn't commit...these people were now  _cheering_  for me.

 _They're probably more excited about another year of Parcels_ , I say to myself cynically.  _Shit. I'm starting to think like Haymitch now._

I see many familiar faces in the assembled crowd...including one that's hanging back near where the back of the train will be, once it's finally stopped. One face that's deliberately trying to make himself as invisible as possible. I know the feeling well, for that's the exact spot that I stood in last year when Katniss returned from the Games as a new Victor.

Udo Donner.

Idly I wonder how life has treated him during these last few weeks. I somehow doubt that he's been flogged...although he looked pretty miserable in the split-second that I saw him.  _Cheer up, Udo,_  I say to myself.  _At least_ you _still have_ two _legs!_

The train glides to a smooth stop. I can hear muffled sounds from the platform now...people cheering, someone making an announcement over the public address system. Haymitch is standing directly behind me, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder. Katniss is standing to my right. I catch her eye and she flashes me a quick, apologetic smile.

I return her smile... _how I hate Snow for what he's done to her...no, to_ us!...and glance to my left. Effie is standing there, nervously tapping at her scheduler and muttering something about being "two minutes behind schedule already!"

"Effie," I say softly.

"What?" Effie's head jerks up at the sound of her name. "I mean, yes, Peeta?"

I reach a hand out and cover her hand with mine, squeezing gently. "It's okay if we're a little late."

I never hear what she said in response, if anything, for the doors suddenly slide open and a wall of sound hits us like a physical blow.

I blink and step out onto a red carpet. Like the Capitol train station, there's a line of white-clad Peacekeepers stretching down both sides of the carpet. I'm vaguely aware of my name being announced over the public address system as the roar of the crowd nearly becomes deafening.

Haymitch urges me forward gently, his hand still on my shoulder, and, as I step forward, my cane giving me much-needed balance and stability, I see a group of people ushered onto the carpet just a few paces from me.

I stop, my vision suddenly cloudy, and I blink rapidly as a man steps forward, his face wreathed in a huge smile as he holds out his arms toward me.

I step forward unsteadily, my tears flowing freely down my face the man wraps his arms tightly around me. He kisses my cheek before putting his mouth next to my ear as he murmurs, "I'm so very, very proud of you, Peeta."

I manage to choke out a single word in response.

"Poppa."


	21. CHAPTER 21

**CHAPTER 21**

**PART I**

I knock briskly on Haymitch's front door. No answer. I knock again, a little louder this time. Still no answer. I hear footsteps behind me and swivel my head around to see Katniss coming up the walk, and immediately I try to will my heart to stop pounding.

"That's not how you do it," she says impatiently as she steps in front of me and pounds her fist on Haymitch's door. "Haymitch! HAYMITCH!" Katniss pounds on the door again.

"Is that really necessary?" I ask as Katniss continues to shout and pound on the door.

"You  _lived_  with him for how long?" Katniss asks, a tinge of scorn in her voice. "Nine months? And you  _still_  don't know how hard it is to wake him?" She tries the door latch. To my surprise the door swings open.

Katniss's words sting, and I find myself biting off something that I'm sure I would regret saying later on. From the dark circles under her eyes I know its sleep deprivation that's making her short-tempered, not me personally. After all, I live directly across from her...our bedrooms face each other...and I've always slept with my windows open.

Katniss's screams woke me up last night...my first night in my new home...and it was all I could do to not rush to her house to offer whatever help I could. But I didn't. Because that would be going against Snow's personal directive to me to "stay away from Katniss Everdeen."

So, instead of lashing back at her, I simply say, "I usually wasn't home this time of morning. Besides, I expected Hazelle Hawthorne to be here."

Katniss's voice softens just a bit as we enter the house. "I saw her leave a while ago. She probably had some shopping to do."

"Oh." I look around the house, trying to locate Haymitch. Katniss checked the kitchen, and I checked the living room. And that's where I found him...the living room.

"In here," I call out.

Haymitch is sprawled out in an overstuffed chair, his chin resting on his chest, slumped down, his arms hanging limply over the arms of the chair with his legs stretched out in front of him. I can see a bottle of white liquor clutched in his left hand. His right hand hangs over the other side of the chair, out of my sight.

"Haymitch," I call out, then louder, "Haymitch!" I reach forward to grab his shoulder and shake him before a firm hand stops me. Katniss doesn't let go of my wrist while pointing with her other hand.

"Uh uh," she mutters. She's pointing at Haymitch's right hand, which I can now see is clutching a large kitchen knife. I nod in understanding and take a step backward as Katniss lets go of my wrist.

"Thanks," I say softly.

"Sure." Katniss's reply is curt and devoid of emotion. She might as well have been talking to a grocer about buying some vegetables.

Katniss disappears for a moment, and then reappears holding a ceramic pitcher. "Stand back," she warns. "He'll most likely come up swinging."

Katniss then tosses the contents of the pitcher on Haymitch, who does indeed come up swinging, roaring with anger as the knife describes a shaky arc through the air.

I wait until the knife has cut the air twice before quickly stepping in, deftly grabbing Haymitch's arm with my left hand and twisting the knife from his grasp with my right. Almost casually, I flick the knife away and hear it thud into the far wall.

"That's enough," I say firmly as Haymitch continues to spit and sputter. "Haymitch! It's Peeta! Peeta and Katniss!"

Haymitch frowns, water dripping from his lank hair as he peers up at me. "Peeta?"

"Yeah," I reply. "Peeta. And Katniss is here too."

"Shit," he mutters. "Didn't have to fuckin' drown me. A simple 'Wake up, Haymitch,' would have sufficed."

"We tried that," Katniss says dryly as she hands him a dishtowel. "Didn't work, as usual."

"Hmmph," Haymitch mutters as he mops at his head and face with a towel. "What the fuck do you two want anyway? In case you hadn't noticed, the Games are over for another year. I'm officially off duty...well, at least until the Victor's Celebration and First Parcel Day, anyway."

Shit. Don't remind me. Another day of gluing a smile on my face. "Where'd you get the bottle?" I ask.

"Ripper," Haymitch replies, looking up at me as though talking to a non-to-bright child. "Where else?"

"She's back in business?" Katniss asks, surprise in her voice. The last we had heard, before the Games, was that Ripper had been shut down...again...by Commander Thread's Peacekeepers.

"You know Ripper, Sweetheart," Haymitch says with a smirk. "Where there's a still, there's a way!" Haymitch cackles loudly at his own bad joke.

Katniss shakes her head in disgust. "You're impossible," she mutters.

Haymitch lurches to his feet, tossing the towel casually onto the chair he was just sitting in. "Okay, kids," he says patiently. "One more time. What the fuck do you two want?"

"Tribute Gardens," I reply simply.

Haymitch stares uncomprehendingly at me for a moment before muttering, "Oh, shit. That's right. I did say that I would take you two there, didn't I?"

"You did," I say firmly.

"Fine," he mutters, and then turns to us. "Wait outside. I need to grab a dry shirt. This one's soaking wet for some reason." Haymitch quickly glares at Katniss before he disappears up his stairs to change his shirt.

"Guess we wait outside," I mutter, suddenly uncomfortable by Katniss's proximity.

"Guess so." As we walk out of Haymitch's living room, Katniss points at the near wall. "Not bad," she says grudgingly, pointing at Haymitch's knife, buried four centimeters in the plaster and wood of the wall.

"Thanks," I mutter. "Not my best." In fact, I'm shocked that the knife stuck. I was only trying to keep it out of Haymitch's reach.

Katniss shrugs. "Still...it was decent."

I shrug, secretly pleased "Thanks."

"Hmmph," Katniss grunts, as we step outside to wait for Haymitch.

The door closes firmly behind us. I remember Haymitch telling me a long time ago that it was relatively safe to talk outside the mansions...it would be too much trouble for the Capitol to bug outside as well as inside.

"Thanks for agreeing to come along," I say softly.

Katniss shrugs again. "Yeah...well, she was my Tribute, after all." Katniss points to my cane. "Leg still bothering you?"

It's my turn to shrug now. "It's getting better. I didn't even use it around the house last night. I just feel better with it outside." I wish Haymitch would hurry up...I've never felt so awkward in my life as I do right now, standing here in Victors' Village trying to make small talk with Katniss.

I notice Katniss peering at my cane intently. "Can I see your cane for a minute?"

Wordlessly I hand her the cane. She mutters her thanks and begins to examine the shaft intently.

"What are you looking for?" I ask.

Katniss doesn't answer me immediately. Finally she mutters, "I thought so." She hands the cane back to me. "Here. Look at this, on the shaft."

The shaft is covered with intricate carvings. Finally I see what she's talking about. "This?" I ask, rubbing my thumb over one small area.

"Yeah," Katniss replies. "That."

I look up at her. "It's a Mockingjay. So what?"

Katniss sighs heavily. "It's not 'just' a Mockingjay. It's  _my_  Mockingjay. The exact same as my pin...the one Madge gave to me last year during Visiting Hour."

I examine the carving more closely. Yes, I can see it now. It is the exact same as Katniss's pin.

I look up at Katniss. "Interesting," I say. "But, after all, Cinna gave the cane to me. Maybe he liked the design...and he was  _your_  Stylist."

Katniss looks thoughtful. "Yeah. Yeah, he was." Katniss and I both turn at the sound of Haymitch's front door open, and then close behind him.

Haymitch is standing on his front porch, wearing a dry shirt. "You two gettin' along okay?" He asks, and then adds, without waiting for an answer, "Come on. Let's get this over with."

Haymitch turns, and, without another word, begins to walk toward the entrance to the Village, forcing Katniss and I to hurry to catch up.

I put the strange Mockingjay carving out of my mind. It's probably not all that important, anyway.

* * *

The quickest route to the cemetery s through the Meadow. Haymitch and Katniss trudge through the Meadow, heads down, both simply anxious to complete the task at hand. I, on the other hand, kept my head up. I'm looking for something.

Finally, I spy what I have been searching for. "Hey," I call out. "Hold up for a minute."

Haymitch and Katniss stop as I hurry over to a patch of flowers growing near a stand of stunted trees. I hear Haymitch give an impatient sigh as I drop to my knees and carefully pick a handful. I ignore him and continue to pick, only looking up when a shadow falls across the small bed of flowers.

Wordlessly Katniss kneels beside me. When I had a dozen or so she reaches for the end of her braid and pulls a hair tie from the end, and then reaches one hand out toward me.

"Give them to me," she says quietly. I hand the bunch of flowers to Katniss, who quickly arranges the stems before wrapping the hair tie around the stems, forming a simple, yet effective, bouquet. She then springs to her feet and holds one hand out to me.

I look up at her, her face expressionless as I take her proffered hand and allow her to help me rise awkwardly to my feet. "Thanks," I murmur as I straighten up and brush a bit of dirt and leaves off my pant legs.

"No problem," she replies. "Here." She hands the bouquet to me.

"Thanks again," I say once more, giving her a small smile at the same time.

I see the corners of Katniss's mouth twitch upwards, but before she can say anything, Haymitch says, "You get what you need, kid? Can we please get this over with now?"

The sound of Haymitch's voice causes Katniss's face to fall back into its usual impassive mask. She abruptly turns away as she, Haymitch and I resume our walk to the cemetery.  _Thanks, Haymitch_ , I say to myself.  _Thanks for jolting Katniss back to reality. Thanks for breaking the only connection that we've had since the fuel stop on the way home._

I glare at Haymitch as I fall in next to him as we continue toward the cemetery. I glance down at the bouquet clutched firmly in my hand, and then on impulse I raise the flowers to my nose and inhale.

The sweet fragrance fills my lungs and I close my eyes for a moment, savoring the odor. The flower petals gleam white in the morning sun, each cluster of pedals surrounding a brilliant yellow center. I nod slightly, pleased at my selection.

Gamma will like these. She likes daisies.

* * *

The bouquet lies on a narrow strip between the simple marker and the fresh mound of earth. Beneath that mound of earth lies a simple wooden coffin. Inside the coffin, in death, rests the body of Gamma Churchill.

I examine the marker carefully, surprised that the Capitol would spend the money for a stone marker. Almost all of the markers in the rest of the cemetery were wood in various stages of disrepair. The inscription was simple:

TRIBUTE GAMMA CHURCHILL

AGE 16

75TH HUNGER GAMES

3RD QUARTER QUELL

3RD PLACE

I voice my surprise at the choice of marker material. "I'm surprised they used stone. Wood's much cheaper."

Haymitch takes a pull on his flask before replying. "Stone's durable. Nothing too good for our Tributes, after all," he adds sarcastically. "Besides, the Capitol wants to remind everyone just who's buried here...and why."

Of course. Just like how the school has pictures of both Gamma and I hanging in what we referred to as "Tribute Hall." Most of the pictures hanging there were small, with a simple inscription, very similar to the one on Gamma's marker. My picture, however, is much larger...as are the pictures of Haymitch and Katniss.

Victors get larger pictures.

District Twelve's first Victor isn't pictured in the school. Neither are the pictures of the kids from Twelve that died in the first six Games. The school didn't open until after the Sixth Hunger Games.

Their graves are all out here, though...if you know where to look for them.

I notice Katniss gazing sadly at the grave next to Gamma's. I glance at the marker just long enough to read "GALE HAWTHORNE" before I turn away. I notice that, unlike the bare earth that covers Gamma's grave, Gale has a nice, well-trimmed carpet of grass growing over his. Idly I wonder if my visiting here today will trigger another visit from Gale and Gamma tonight. Truthfully, I would welcome them. A pair of familiar faces, even dead ones, would be preferable to my nightmares.

I find myself stepping back a few paces so that both graves are in my field of vision, and then kissing the three fingers of my left hand before raising my hand up in salute to both Gale and Gamma. After all, I owe both of them my life.

Katniss joins me after a moment, raising her own hand up in salute. Surprisingly, Haymitch does the same. He's also the first to drop his hand as he says, "Okay, are we done here? Can we go now?"

Needless to say, his attitude irritates me. "What's your problem, Haymitch?"

Haymitch regards me calmly as he takes another pull on his flask. "I don't have a problem, kid," he replies calmly. "But you might...if you can't let it go."

"Let it go? Let it GO?" I'm practically shaking now. "Gamma is  _dead_ , Haymitch! Gale too! And you just want to  _let it go_?"

Katniss lays her hand on my arm as my anger grows. "Peeta -"

I shake her hand off. "No! Haymitch, how can you just act like none of this matters? How can you -"

"Josiah Pride," Haymitch says calmly. "Antonia Morrow. They're buried in here too...just down a ways from where we're standin' right now. Those names ring a bell, kid?"

Haymitch's calm demeanor startles me so much that, for a moment, my anger is pushed to one side. "Uhh...no," I stammer. "No, they don't. Should they?"

"Well, in that case," Haymitch replies cheerfully, "let me educate you both." He drapes one arm around my shoulders, and his other arm around Katniss's shoulders, as he propels us down the line of graves. I notice how firm his grip is and decide that trying to wiggle out of his grasp would prove to be both painful and futile.

"Y'see, kids," he says conversationally, as we walk, "Josiah and Antonia were my very first Tributes. I was a seventeen-year-old Mentor, one year out from winning the Second Quarter Quell. And, unlike  _you_ , Sweetheart," he adds, speaking directly to Katniss, "I didn't have the luxury of another District Twelve Mentor to show me the ropes and help me over the rough spots, like you did."

"They were the first," Haymitch continues, "but not the last. I have forty-eight kids buried in here. Forty-eight. And I remember each and every one of them...their names, how old they were, whether they were Seam or Town, what their dreams were, if any, and how scared they were." We finally stop in front of a pair of graves. "Katniss and Peeta, meet Antonia and Josiah." Haymitch relaxes his grip on our shoulders and turns us around, staring at us intently.

"You are both Victors. Katniss, you've Mentored. Peeta, you'll get your first taste of that next year at the Games. You train them, you help them in any way you can, and you mourn them when they die. And afterwards,  _you let them go._  If you don't, you'll both be insane by the time you're twenty."

I've learned to listen to Haymitch when he actually uses my name...like now. "Do you both understand?" He asks.

"Yes, Haymitch," Katniss and I say in near unison.

"Good," Haymitch says. "And, just so you both know -" he gestures around at the whole of Tribute Gardens "- this matters. Every. Last. One." He pats us both on the shoulder. "Okay. Let's go." He glances up at the sky, where the sun is starting to play peek-a-boo with a line of dark, fast moving clouds. "Come on. Let's get a move on before we get soaked."

As we turn to leave, my eye catches another marker, this one in a group next to the two from the Fifty-First Games. It was indistinguishable from the others, but the name catches my eye. I read:

TRIBUTE MAYSILEE DONNER

AGE 16

50TH HUNGER GAMES

2ND QUARTER QUELL

5TH PLACE

Maysilee Donner. The girl that Poppa had mentioned to me before...the one that was best friends with Katniss's mother.  Her niece is Madge Undersee, and, of course, she is also related to Udo Donner as well. I wondered why had never noticed her name in Tribute Hall in school before, but that's not all that unusual. I don't know of any kids that spent any time looking at pictures of dead students. Normally, we would walk by as quickly as possible and try  _not_  to look.

I find myself wondering why Madge had never mentioned the connection to her before. I turn to Katniss and touch her arm lightly. "Look," I say quietly, pointing at the marker with my cane.

Katniss turns and looks, frowning slightly as she recognizes the name...and then gasps as she notices what's carved in the stone below the last line, just above where the stone meets the ground. I see it at the same time. At first, I thought it was a chip...a flaw in the stone...until I take a closer look.

The carving was far from professional...even crude. And it was small. But it was unmistakable.

Carved into the stone, just like it was engraved on the shaft of my cane, was a representation of Katniss's Mockingjay pin.

Another mystery.

**PART II**

"Here you go," Hazelle Hawthorne says as she sets a steaming cup of tea at my elbow. "Nice and hot."

"Thanks," I murmur, wiping the rainwater from my head, face and arms with a thick hand towel. We were less than five minutes from the Village when the clouds opened up, drenching us in a sudden summer downpour.

Haymitch and I are sitting in his kitchen...spotlessly immaculate since Hazelle had taken over his housekeeping. I would have gone back to my own house...I had only moved in yesterday and I still had a few things to set up "my way"...but Haymitch had asked me in, saying that he had some "things" to talk to me about.

Katniss, of course, had peeled off and headed back to her own house as soon as we hit the Village.

I take a sip of my tea and nod approvingly, and then watch as Haymitch pours some of the contents of his flask into his cup before taking a taste.

He smacks his lips loudly and settles back in his chair before he resumes toweling himself off. He gives me a sidelong glance before speaking. "So?"

"So what?" I ask irritably.

"So...are you moving your family out here?" Haymitch casually drops the towel on the floor. I sigh, bend down, and pick it up, placing it carefully on the table. Hazelle is his housekeeper...not his servant.

I give him the shortest answer possible. "No."

Haymitch arches his eyebrows at this news. "May I ask why?"

"No!" I snap. I immediately regret my tone. "Shit. I'm sorry. This is just nothing like I expected."

Haymitch chuckles. "What'd you expect? Parades? Adulation? Speeches from the Mayor?"

"I got the speech, remember? You were right there. And, to answer your question...I don't know what I expected." I sigh and take another sip of my tea.

"Kid," Haymitch says gently, "Here's one fact about being a Victor that no one talks about. You're invisible. People don't want to be reminded about the Games, yet every time you walk through the Square there you are...a living reminder that the Games exist, and that next summer two more kids will most likely come back from their all expenses paid trip to the Capitol in a box. So what people do is pretend that you aren't there."

I stare at my tea, so Haymitch continues to talk. "Listen. You have some good friends out there. Sure, they pretty much shit on you last year, but the Cartwright girl and Undersee's kid don't come any better. My guess is they'll come around, once the newness wears off. Give 'em a week or so. Now tell me about your family."

I sigh heavily. "The train station was great. My mother actually cried. Haymitch, I've  _never_  seen her cry! And the reception at the Mayor's house...I couldn't have asked for a nicer evening. But then, the next morning, my mother started in at breakfast. Snide remarks about having 'Seam Trash'...that's you and Katniss, by the way...as neighbors."

I pause, suddenly embarrassed. Haymitch just continues to look at me calmly. "Go on."

"It got worse as the day went on. Mother making nasty comments about you, and Katniss, and Gamma. 'I was so embarrassed,' she had said, 'watching you fawn over that little Community Home slut, as if she even mattered.' Haymitch, I was so fucking pissed off I could hardly see straight!" I pick up my teacup and notice for the first time that my hand is trembling.

"Tell me the truth, kid," Haymitch says gently. "Did you really expect your mother to act any differently?"

I shake my head. "I guess not," I admit miserably. "But I was hoping, after the Homecoming -"

"- That she was a different person?" Haymitch finishes for me. "That she's changed? Kid, I've known your folks for a long time. Your mama ain't never gonna change. Your daddy...he's as good as they come, but he's been beat down by your mother for over twenty years. Now he just don't know any better."

"I guess not," I mutter. "Haymitch, you know what she said when I talked about moving everyone into my mansion? She said 'Living in the Village would be just like living in the Seam. We'd have the same trashy neighbors.'"

Haymitch laughs at this. He actually laughs. "Kid, bigotry dies hard in some people. And it never dies in others. Never mind about your mama...between you, Katniss, and me we're the three richest people in the district. I'm bettin' that your family hits you up for money before much longer."

"Yeah?" I reply belligerently. "Well, they won't see a single Sesterce."

Haymitch just gives me a knowing smile. "We'll see."

Sometimes he's so smug I have an overwhelming urge to smack the smile off his face.

* * *

Haymitch was right, of course.

My father paid me a visit a few days later. It didn't take him long to get to the point.

"Son, we're hurting. Since you're a Victor, the Capitol's cut off your Fiscal Tesserae. I got this in the mail yesterday." He hands me a letter from the Ministry of Finance. The Mellark Bakery was, indeed, in arrears to the tune of one thousand, two hundred Sesterces. The Ministry has given my father ninety days to pay a "good faith" payment of one third that amount, or four hundred Sesterces, or lose the bakery.

I could easily pay this amount in full, right now. But the letter gives me an idea. An idea on how I can use my position, if not my newly acquired wealth, to help some people that desperately deserve it.

In short, I want to help the Community Home.

"Let's take a walk, Poppa," I say. Together we leave my house and walk from the Village to town. I know my father is bursting with curiosity, but at the same time he doesn't want to jeopardize any help that I may be considering giving him, so he says nothing.

Our first stop is at the Capitol Liaison office. I ask to speak to the Liaison himself, a Mr. Hadrian Clark. Poppa and I are ushered into his office after waiting less than five minutes. I'm amazed at how different a Victor is treated in comparison to a regular district resident.

"Mr. Mellark," Clark says warmly, rising from behind his desk and extending his hand to me, "a pleasure to see you again."

"Thank you for seeing us so quickly," I reply, shaking his hand. "This is my father, Liam Mellark, owner of the Mellark Bakery."

"Of course," Clark says, shaking Poppa's hand. "We met at the dinner for your son at the Mayor's residence, the night he returned from the Capitol."

My father mutters a greeting as Clark ushers us into a pair of chairs in front of his desk. "Now, how may I help our newest Victor today?"

In response, I hand Hadrian Clark the letter. He reads it quickly and then hands it back.

"I'm assuming that you would like to help out your family by paying this lien?" Clark asks.

"Yes," I reply. "Will that be a problem?"

"Not at all," Clark says, leaning back in his chair. "Such monetary transfers are permissible between a Victor and his or her immediate family."

"Good," I reply. "I also have a question regarding charitable contributions."

"I'm glad you're asking about charity," Clark says. "The laws are very strict in that regard."

"That's why I'm here," I reply with a smile. "I have a specific place in mind."

"Oh?" Clark leans forward slightly.

"Yes. The Community Home."

"I see," Clark says, picking up a heavy, bound manual. "One moment." He quickly thumbs through the book until he finds the page that he's looking for. "As an individual citizen of Panem, you may donate up to twenty Sesterces every month to each charity of your choice."

Twenty Sesterces...barely enough to feed five people for a month. That wouldn't even scratch the surface at the Community Home. But money wasn't exactly what I had in mind.

"What about consumable or perishable goods?" I ask. "For example, stale baked goods that can no longer be sold and would have to be disposed of."

Clark thumbs through his book while my father eyes me with suspicion. "What exactly are you trying to do here, Peeta?" Poppa asks softly.

"Pay someone back," I reply curtly. I don't even turn to look at him when I answer.

Hadrian Clark looks up from the manual. "If the goods are accompanied by an affidavit stating that the consumable goods are no longer fit to be sold for public consumption, they may be donated. There is no limit on frequency or quantity of these types of donations."

"Great," I say with a smile before turning to my father. "Here's the deal, Poppa. I will pay off your tax lien. One third now, another third next month, and the final third the month after. All I ask in return is that, once every business day, you make a donation to the Community Home of all the stale baked goods that you have to pull as not sellable. Do we have a deal?"

Poppa hesitates. He obviously wasn't expecting me to spring something like this on him. "Son," he begins slowly, "you know I'll have to talk this over with your mother and brothers."

I shake my head emphatically. "No. The bakery is in  _your_  name. The choice is not mother's. It's yours. Decide now."

My father sits in silence for a moment before looking up at me. He then offers me his hand and says, "It's a deal."

I shake my father's hand. His grip is warm and firm, his hand rough and work-worn...just as I remembered it. I turn back toward Hadrian Clark.

"Is there some way that I can have the twenty Sesterces deducted from my account with the bank each month and deposited with the Community Home?"

"Absolutely," Clark replies. "Stop by the bank any time during regular business hours. They'll be able to set it up."

I stand up. After a moment, Poppa does the same. I shake Clark's hand, thanking him for his help, and then Poppa and I leave the Capitol Liaison offices.

"One more stop," I say as Poppa and I step out into the street.

Poppa simply nods as we make our way through the Square and towards the train station. But the train station is not our destination. Our destination is a dingy gray, multi-story building that houses those district children that are either orphans or whose parents are unable to care for them.

The District Twelve Community Home.

It's the weekend, so all of the residents...kids ranging in age from infants to seventeen-year-olds...are home. They are all dressed more or less identically in shabby gray shirts, trousers, or, in the case of some of the girls, gray dresses. I recall with a pang that Gamma was wearing a dress much like those that I am seeing here today.

All of the kids that are old enough are working...cleaning and scrubbing various areas in the home. At first, Poppa and I attract only a few sullen, vaguely curious stares...until one of the kids recognizes me. Then their attitude changes completely as an excited buzz of conversation rises up from the kids.

"That's  _him_...the Victor. Peeta friggin'  _Mellark_...I don't fuckin' believe it. What's  _he_  doin' here?...Mellark? The Victor? Is Katniss with him too?...Who's the old guy with him?..."Why's he here? Slumming?...I  _told_  you it was him, asshole! It  _is_ Peeta Mellark!"

One of the older boys detaches himself from a group of kids that had been scrubbing floors and walks over to Poppa and I. I realize with a shock that this kid had been in a couple of classes with me at school...and I'm ashamed to admit that I don't even remember his name. He's definitely Seam, with a shock of unruly black hair and olive skin. He's about my height, thin without being skinny, with sharp features. He carries himself with an air of authority. Idly I wonder how well he knew Gamma.

The boy eyes Poppa and I suspiciously. "Help you with somethin'?"

"I'd like to speak with whoever's in charge," I explain.

"That'd be Miz Mattock," the boy replies after thinking over my request for a moment. "Follow me."

Poppa and I follow the boy... _he's named for a month_ , I recall...down a short corridor. Suddenly I turn to the boy, snapping my fingers in recognition and recall.

"June, right?" I ask hopefully.

The boy barks out a quick, short laugh. "Close," he replies curtly. "July. July Barrow." He turns and looks at me closely. "Wouldn't expect a Townie to remember."

I flush slightly at the dig, but I don't back down from this boy. "Maybe not before," I reply evenly, "but things are different now."

July's eyes narrow a bit. "Guess so," is his curt response. We stop in front of a door. "Miz Mattock's office," July explains. "Just knock 'n go in." He pauses for a moment. "Listen. You did right by Gamma." He looks at Poppa as if seeing him for the first time. "You're the baker, right?"

Poppa nods. "That's right." He extends his hand toward the boy. "Liam Mellark."

July hesitates for a moment before clasping Poppa's hand in his for a brief handshake. "I gotta get back to work," he explains as he turns away. "See ya around."

"July." I call out softly. The boy turns back to face me. "Things  _are_  different now."

The boy looks at me impassively for a moment before nodding once and turning away. I turn back to Poppa, raise my hand, and knock sharply on the door.

* * *

Charity Mattock is about my father's age. A plain, severe, woman...and one totally dedicated to her job of running the Community Home. And a woman that's, as Poppa and I are now discovering, incredibly stubborn.

"Thank you for the offer," she is saying politely but firmly, "but we cannot accept."

"I don't understand," I reply. "From what I understand, you never have enough of anything here. In fact, you require kids of Reaping age to take Tesserae to supplement your supplies of food and oil!"

"Mr. Mellark," Charity Mattock explains patiently, "I don't expect you to understand, being of the Merchant class...but the vast majority of children here are Seam-born. And it's ingrained in Seam residents from birth to never accept something that they have no way to repay."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," I confess. "You seem to be perfectly willing to accept the monetary donation that I mentioned earlier."

"That's different. Your kind donation of twenty Sesterces will go directly into the Homes accounts. But there's no way to explain a box of stale bread showing up here every day as anything but charity."

"Miss Mattock," Poppa says suddenly. "Gamma Churchill had no family, is that right?"

"Her only family was her Community Home family," Charity Mattock replies.

"And isn't it customary when a member of a family dies, that the friends of the deceased bring gifts of food to the surviving family members?"

I look at Poppa, my surprise plainly evident on my face. His logic in his argument is perfect.

"It is a custom here in Twelve with both Merchant and Seam," Charity Mattock replies slowly, "but such gifts are only given once."

"Miss Mattock," Poppa continues, "To the best of my knowledge, the only real friend that Gamma Churchill had, outside of the Home itself, was my son." He squeezes my shoulder gently. "And, while it's customary that gifts of food are only given one time, that doesn't mean that such gifts cannot continue to be given...as long as it's with the understanding that the gift is being given in the name of the deceased person."

Charity Mattock nods slowly, a smile beginning to spread across her face. "Yes," she says thoughtfully. "That just may work. A gift of food, in perpetuity, in Gamma's name."

"I'll have one of my other sons sort through our inventory later on this afternoon," Poppa says. "And you understand that what we will be sending you are baked goods that are stale, yet still edible. And quantities will never be the same from one day to the next. What I send you will depend on just how much we weren't able to sell."

"I doubt if any of the children here will complain, Mr. Mellark," Charity Mattock says with a smile. "And thank you for making me see another side. It pained me to have to originally turn down your offer." She stands up. "And now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I do have work to do." She shakes my hand first, then Poppa's. "And thank you again. Both of you."

Poppa promises the first delivery for sometime early that same evening. And, as Poppa and I leave the Community Home and walk back to the bakery, I realize that I actually feel good...really good...for the first time since returning home.

Poppa and I stop outside the bakery. "Would you like to come in?" He asks hopefully.

I shake my head. "I need to get on home. Haymitch showed me how to use my CapitolNet computer, but I want his help on doing a fund transfer for both you and the Home." I pause for a moment. "I want to take care of this now. I don't want to wait until Monday when the bank reopens."

I can tell that Poppa is disappointed by my answer. Nevertheless, he smiles and pulls me into a tight hug. "You know, son," he begins, "when I first came to you today, I didn't know what to expect, to tell you the truth." He pulls back from me and examines my face closely.

"When you Volunteered," he continues, his voice cracking a bit, "I thought that I would never see my boy again. And the way you left us...so angry. And you had every right to be."

"Poppa -" I whisper.

"Let me finish, son, please," Poppa says pleadingly. "What I'm trying to say here is that, in a way, I was right. I  _will_  never see my  _boy_  again. That's because my boy is now a man. A man that continues to make his father proud of him." Tears are streaming down his face as he speaks. "And more of a man than I can ever hope to be."

Poppa's face blurs as we stand in front of the bakery, happily sobbing as we clutch each other...and I could care less who sees.

**PART III**

For the next week or so, my new life as a Victor is fairly uneventful. I gradually learn the ins and outs of my new home. I make my first cash donation to the Community Home. Poppa receives the first of three transfers to pay off the lien on the bakery. And mother, of course, is furious about the arrangement.

Personally, I don't understand why my mother is so against the idea of donating goods that they couldn't sell anyway. After all, my brothers and I ate nothing but stale bread for years, not to mention that a good deal of stale baked goods was fed to our pigs. It was taking nothing out of her pocket, and my father had been running the bakery long enough to know how much to bake so he  _didn't_  have to throw away a lot in the way of unsold inventory.

Of course, it was the principle of the thing. My mother is simply against the idea of giving  _anything_ away to what she considers "Seam trash."

Mother was causing so many problems for Poppa that I finally had to intervene and explain to her one simple fact...if the donations of bread cease, then so will my assistance in paying off the lien against the bakery.

That shut her up. Or so I thought. All mother ended up doing was to change her tactics...and have my father and Charity Mattock arrested.

* * *

I was over at Haymitch's early one evening, going over a few last-minute details for the upcoming first Parcel Day as well as the concurrent District Victor's Celebration, when a pounding on his door interrupts our conversation.

Haymitch looks up in irritation. "One o' your friends?" He grumbles as he rises from his chair in the kitchen. I had begun having visitors over the last couple of days...a few guys from my old wrestling team, Delly Cartwright and Madge Undersee, Poppa, of course...even my brothers. But I was expecting no one tonight.

I shrug. "Beats me," I reply as I follow him to the door. To my surprise, my brother Quinn was standing there...and he looked more frightened than I had ever seen him before.

"Oh, good, you're here!" Quinn pants out. "I tried your place, and the Everdeens also...but Katniss said that she wasn't sure where you were."

 _Of course not_ , I say to myself,  _because I'm doing what I've been told to do and staying away from Katniss_. To my brother I say, "Why? What's going on?"

I notice then that Quinn is out of breath, and I wonder if he ran all the way from town out to the Village. He glances fearfully from Haymitch to me before responding.

"Poppa's been arrested."

* * *

We manage to get the story out of Quinn as we walk into town..."we," meaning Haymitch, Katniss and I. It seems that Katniss's curiosity got the best of her and she ended up coming along.

Poppa was delivering a small load of stale goods to the Community Home. As he was chatting with Charity Mattock, Bellatrix Breccia, accompanied by three other Peacekeepers, showed up at the Community Home and arrested them both for "illegal and unauthorized charitable activities."

"Peeta, Poppa showed them the affidavit, but they  _still_  arrested him!" My brother looks on the verge of breaking down. "Who would have done this to them? He wasn't hurting anyone!"

"Two guesses," I mutter savagely. It was either my mother or Udo Donner...and Udo had been keeping a very low profile since my Victory and Homecoming. My money is on mother.

_It figures that Bellatrix Breccia would be involved. That bitch. If she's smart, she'll have treated Poppa decently or else -_

"Hey." Katniss's soft voice startles me back to reality. I glance over to where she had dropped back to walk with me.

"Oh. Hey." I feel so awkward. Katniss and I have hardly even acknowledged each other's existence since that day in the cemetery.  _We're safe enough here, though. No bugs to record our every word...Haymitch and Quinn are here so we aren't alone together. Snow's Roses, Katniss, I miss you!_

"You...you doing okay?" Katniss asks hesitantly.

I shrug. "Okay, I guess. How about you?"

A shrug from Katniss as well. "Okay. I saw Madge the other day. I asked her if she knew anything about all the Mockingjay symbols that keep popping up around here." I don't carry my cane any more, but I know Katniss is talking about that...as well as the symbol so crudely cut into Maysilee Donner's grave marker in Tribute Gardens.

"Oh? What did she say?" I ask.

Katniss shakes her head. "Nothing. Not a fucking thing. Has she said anything to you?"

It's my turn to shake my head. "No. It was like talking to a brick wall when I brought it up."

"That's what I got, too," Katniss says softly. "But I did find out something interesting. The girl that's buried there...Maysilee Donner?...is Madge's aunt."

I look at Katniss in surprise. "No shit?"

"No shit," Katniss repeats, nodding emphatically. "Maysilee was her Madge's mother's twin sister. The Mockingjay pin that Madge gave to me originally belonged to Maysilee. And, get this...Maysilee and Haymitch were  _allies_  during their Games!"

The Mockingjay pin...it all comes back to that damn Mockingjay pin. Maysilee Donner owned it and died in the Hunger Games. It's passed on to her niece, who gives it to her friend Katniss Everdeen, who survives and becomes Victor. A year later, it's carved into the shaft of my cane...and finally, both Katniss and I notice it crudely carved into Maysilee Donner's grave marker.

I have two questions. What's the significance of the Mockingjay...and why us?

"Hi, kids!" Haymitch says cheerfully as he falls in between Katniss and I. "I heard my name. What's up?"

I sigh. We need to get some answers out of Haymitch, but not here and definitely not now. But I'm sure he knows more than what he's letting on.

* * *

The Peacekeeper behind the desk and the thick ballistic glass looks up as we enter the outer lobby.

"Let me handle this," Haymitch mutters as we step forward.

The Peacekeeper...a hatchet faced man with a perpetual scowl...glares at us through the glass. "What do you want?"

Haymitch flashes a broad smile. "A mistake appears to have been made earlier this evening," Haymitch says calmly. "Two citizens were arrested and brought in by Officer Breccia and some others. Their names are Liam Mellark and Charity Mattock."

Officer Hatchet Face smiles unpleasantly. "There was no mistake. Sergeant Breccia arrested them for conducting illegal charitable operations. It seems that Mellark had failed to apply for an Unlimited Charity License. That makes him at fault for offering the illegal donation and Mattock at fault for accepting it."

Unable to control myself any longer, I step forward, shaking with rage. However, when I speak, my voice is remarkably calm. "I don't understand. I personally checked with the Capitol Liaison office before any donations were made to see exactly what was required. I spoke with the Capitol Liaison, Hadrian Clark, personally. He made no mention of any type of license being required."

"That's because the policy was only implemented two days ago," a new voice states firmly. I'm familiar with the owner of this voice. It's the Head Peacekeeper himself, Commander Romulus Thread.

"Hello, Commander," Haymitch greets Thread respectfully. "So am I to understand that this licensing policy didn't exist when the Mellarks originally visited the Capitol Liaison?"

Thread shrugs. "Guess not. But you should know that ignorance of the law is no excuse."

"Of course not," Haymitch replies in agreement. "So how do we correct this oversight?"

"Pay the fine, in cash." Another familiar voice joins the conversation as Bellatrix Breccia steps forward. "Complete a license application in triplicate. Pay the licensing fee, in cash." She chuckles unpleasantly. "Your application will be taken under consideration by this office...namely me."

The ballistic glass is the only thing holding me back from lunging forward and personally wiping the smirk from the face of that bitch. I glance over at Katniss. Her face, too, is set in a mask of barely controlled fury. I know that she's not angry at what's happening to my father...after all, she barely knows Poppa. And I doubt if she's angry about Charity Mattock's treatment, either. No, her fury runs much deeper. It's the anger and impotence at having to continually deal with an oppressive system that changes the rules to suit them.

Fortunately for both Katniss and I, we had one calming influence with us that evening. Haymitch's expression doesn't change as Breccia recites what would be required of us to secure the release of my father and of Charity Mattock.

"You mentioned payment of fines and licensing fees," Haymitch says evenly. "How much are we talking about?"

Thread looks at Officer Hatchet Face. "Tell him."

Hatchet Face taps a few keys on the computer keyboard on the desk in front of him. "Seven hundred fifty Sesterces for each fine. Five hundred Sesterces for the licensing fee."

"And, by the way, the licensing fee is non-refundable," Breccia adds with a smirk.

"What exactly does that mean?" I ask through tightly clenched teeth.

"It means,  _Mister_  Mellark, that if the application is rejected for any reason, we keep the money," Breccia replies, her smirk widening. I bite my tongue. No doubt the decision has already been made to reject any application that I submit.

Haymitch takes Katniss, Quinn, and I aside. "How much cash do you have with you?" He asks me.

"What? Not nearly enough! Haymitch, we aren't gonna  _pay_  these assholes, are we?" I sputter.

Haymitch looks me in the eye. "First of all, shut up. I'm doin' the talkin' here. Secondly, yeah, we are gonna pay these assholes." He turns to Katniss. "How about you, Sweetheart? Any cash?"

Katniss shakes her head. "Not with me."

Haymitch sighs. "That makes three of us." He turns back to the front desk, where Thread, Breccia, and Hatchet Face are waiting impatiently. "Commander," he begins, addressing his remarks to Thread, "We don't have sufficient cash on hand to pay the fines or the licensing fees. However, if we can post some sort of bond, with a promise of payment in full on Monday, when the banks are open -"

"No." Thread replies flatly. "No bond. Pay in full tonight or sentence is executed tomorrow morning."

I feel a chill run up my back at Thread's words. "Sentence?"

"Twenty-five lashes each at noon tomorrow."

I feel sick. Twenty-five lashes? Twenty lashes had me laid up for days, and I was sixteen. My father is over forty. What would twenty-five lashes do to him?

Haymitch very carefully keeps his face impassive. "I see. And we have until noon tomorrow to make payment."

"Yes," Hatchet Face says. "But with the banks closed until Monday, it seems as though the baker and the woman will end up getting striped."

Haymitch glances at Hatchet Face and Breccia before turning his attention back to Thread. "Thank you," Haymitch says calmly. He gathers up Katniss, Quinn and I and begins to move us toward the door. "We'll be in touch tomorrow, Commander."

"At the whipping post, most likely," Breccia cackles.

Haymitch leans in close to Katniss and I. "Not a sound from either of you," he hisses. "Good night, Commander," he says as he practically pushes the three of us out the door.

The three of us immediately spin to confront Haymitch as soon as we are outside...a move that he must have anticipated, because whatever we were going to say he nipped off before we had a chance to speak a word.

"The three of you," Haymitch barks, "can zip it right now. And I mean  _right fucking now_!" He chops his hand at each of us for emphasis. We all get his message immediately. None of us says a word.

"Now," Haymitch says calmly, "let's head back to the Village. We can't do shit here. You too, Quinn," Haymitch adds. "We need to talk. And I want you all to understand something. This bullshit so-called 'law' was put into place by Thread to force us to do something stupid. But he's forgetting one thing." Haymitch pauses and smiles wickedly. "He's dealing with three Victors."

* * *

Before we enter his house, Haymitch pulls out a small device from his coat pocket, and then turns to all of us. "Not a word until I tell you."

He unlocks his door and does something to the device, turning a small knob until a small light on top of the device glows green. Nodding in satisfaction, he beckons us to follow him into the house. "Okay. You can talk now. But keep it down."

"What is that thing?" Katniss asks.

"White noise generator," Haymitch replies tersely. "Interferes with any bug within fifteen meters. I don't use it often." Haymitch looks pointedly at Quinn. "And you. Forget you ever saw this."

Quinn nods, wide-eyed, as we follow Haymitch into his study. "Siddown," he commands as he settles in behind his desk. "For once I'm thankful that Effie insisted I get my phone replaced," he mutters as he pulls another device from another coat pocket. He disconnects the cord from the back of his phone, reconnecting it to the device, and then he plugs the device into the back of his phone and flips a switch.

"Scrambler," he explains as he picks up the phone and dials a number from memory. "I don't like to use it much. As far as anyone trying to listen is concerned, my phone was never used tonight."

Haymitch presses a button on the phone before carefully replacing the handset in its cradle. Immediately, we can hear the sound of a phone ringing. The ringing cuts off and is immediately followed by a woman's voice coming over the speaker.

"Assistant Head Gamemakers office."

"Fulvia? Haymitch Abernathy. Is he in?"

There's a short pause on the other end. "Hold, please." Haymitch looks at us and grins widely. "Fulvia Cardew," he explains. "She's never really 'approved' of me."

There's a click, followed by a male voice. "Haymitch? Are you alone?"

"No," Haymitch replies. "And I need you to just listen. Don't say a word until I'm done." Quickly Haymitch explains the events that lead up to my father and Charity Mattock being arrested, and what the Head Peacekeeper was demanding of us.

Haymitch finally pauses. The only reply that he gets is a noncommittal grunt. "Well?" Haymitch snaps. "Did you get all that."

"I got all that," the male voice replies. "Haymitch, do you really expect me to get involved in a matter of local jurisdiction?"

"No," Haymitch replies slowly and carefully, as if he is speaking to a child. "I expect you to get in touch with your contacts in the Ministry of Security and make this bullshit disappear,  _that's_ what I expect you to do."

"Do you really expect...my contact to interfere? Thread is well within his authority to insist on licenses for this sort of activity be issued through his office. Just as he's within his authority to levy fines...or order floggings if the fines are not paid."

"Dammit, Plutarch!" Haymitch barks. "We will pay the fines! But Thread timed this deliberately! Arresting Mellark and Mattock on a Friday night, with the bank closed until Monday morning. All we want is to be able to post bond now, and the remainder on Monday."

Another long pause on the other end, then, "Haymitch? Is Peeta Mellark with you?"

"I'm right here," I snap. "Who is this?"

"Peeta! Assistant Head Gamemaker Plutarch Heavensbee here. I assume you've been following the conversation?"

"Every word," I reply tersely. "Are you going to help?"

"I believe I can be of some assistance," Heavensbee replies. "And I see no need to involve the Head Gamemaker in any of this. Seneca Crane has enough on his plate right now as it is."

I notice Katniss stiffen noticeably at the mention of the Head Gamemaker, and it further convinces me that she was somehow involved with Haymitch's visit to Seneca Crane after I killed Ishmael Brennan with the force field.

"I agree," I reply quickly. "Thank you for helping."

"My pleasure," Heavensbee says. "Haymitch, will you be home the rest of the evening?"

"Yeah," Haymitch replies.

"I'll be in touch later, then," Heavensbee continues. "I'll let you know how it goes with...my contact...and I have a few details to discuss with you regarding Sunday."

Sunday. The Victory Celebration and the first Parcel Day. I had almost forgotten.

"Great," Haymitch drawls. "Later, Plutarch." Haymitch punches a button on the phone and breaks the connection. "That son of a bitch," he mutters as he disconnects the device from his phone.

"What?" Katniss asks.

"Did you hear him mention Sunday? That oily bastard's only worried about a glitch-free Parcel Day." Haymitch shoves the device back into an inner coat pocket. "Okay. You kids run along. I can't keep our Peacekeeper friends in the dark for much longer, anyway. Quinn, -" Haymitch turns to my brother "- we'll get your daddy back with an unstriped back. Now you better git...it's gettin' dark and you don't need a curfew violation."

Quinn thanks Haymitch profusely and gives me a quick hug. He even hugs Katniss, to her shock. I show him the door even as I promise to let him know as soon as I know something.

I watch Quinn hurry down the walkway and turn back to Haymitch's study, only to see the door shut. Katniss is standing quietly behind me, looking at me strangely.

I nod my head toward the door. Katniss understands immediately. We need to get out of Haymitch's house so we can talk freely. Once outside, I turn to Katniss.

"What was that look for?" I ask.

"Nothing," she mutters. "Only that...you've really changed since the Games."

I give her a small, rueful smile. "For better or worse?"

"Better," she replies instantly. In response, I flash her the Amsalan sign for "thank you."

Katniss frowns. "What was that?"

"Avox sign language," I reply with a grin. "Cressida taught me a little. Lavinia and Pollux helped, too. I only know a few phrases." I feel a pang when I mention Lavinia's name and I sincerely hope that she's okay.

"Oh," Katniss says. "What did that mean? What you just did, I mean."

"It means 'thank you,'" I reply.

"And you learned that in the Training Center?" Katniss asks.

"And a little afterwards, too." I reply.

Katniss shakes her head slowly. "Haymitch was right," she mutters.

I frown. "Huh? Right about what?"

"I never would have thought to try to learn Avox sign language," Katniss explains. "That's something that's just totally...you. Haymitch and I were talking the other day and he said that no one decent has ever won the Games. Until now."

I look at Katniss sharply. I had walked her to her front door while we were talking. What did she mean? That she thought I was decent...or that she wasn't?

Katniss then does something totally unexpected. She leans in close to me and kisses my cheek...very close to my mouth.

To say I was shocked is an understatement. But I'm not letting her go easily now that she's so near. So I grab her shoulders, put my lips near her ear, and whisper, "I've missed you!"

Katniss pulls back, her eyes suddenly shiny, and says, "I...I...goodnight, Peeta." And, before I can say or do anything else, she flings her front door open and practically dives into her house, the door slamming shut behind her.

I slowly walk back to my house, absently rubbing the spot on my cheek where she kissed me.

Where Katniss Everdeen kissed me.

**PART IV**

Plutarch Heavensbee came through for us. The next day Haymitch, Katniss and I returned to Peacekeeper Headquarters and posted a bond for my father and Charity Mattock.

In a way, it seems funny...three Victors that actually had to pool their money together in order to get two people out of jail. The reality was that we just didn't have a lot of coin lying around.

_That will change...right now. I intend to make sure I have plenty of cash on hand for situations just like this._

Peacekeeper Sergeant Bellatrix Breccia was seething with fury as she accepted our pooled funds and processed the paperwork for the release of my father and for Charity Mattock. "Don't think you've won," she hissed. "Victor or no Victor, you're subject to the law as much as the next district scum. You'll slip up one of these days...and I'll be waiting."

I say nothing in response. Instead, I just glare at her contemptuously.

She grabs my arm as soon as I finish signing the last bond paper. "You cost me a bundle on the Games. Someday I'll take it outta your hide."

I couldn't resist the dig. "Who'd you bet on,  _Sergeant_? Lupa Stonehenge?" The look on her face tells me that I've touched a nerve. "I thought so. Must've really frosted your ass to see her killed by a Community Home Seam brat."

"Peeta -" Haymitch says, a warning tone in his voice.

I glance at Haymitch and flash him a smile. "Oh, fine, Haymitch," I sigh. "But as far as the law goes -" I glance back at Breccia "- the last I heard, President Snow  _is_  the law in Panem. And when was the last time  _you_  spoke with the President,  _Sergeant_?" Stony, angry silence. I nod slowly. "Uh huh. I thought so. Are we finished here?"

We were, in fact, finished. Another Peacekeeper escorts my father and Charity Mattock to the front desk, where they are released to Haymitch, Katniss and myself. The three of us are admonished to return by noon on Monday to pay the balance of the fines and the licensing fees...and, in the same breath, the Peacekeeper that's releasing my father and Charity Mattock informs us that the license will be ready for us to pick up at the time payment is made.

My father is practically falling all over himself, thanking not only Haymitch, but Katniss and me as well. Quinn is there also, having come along to help get Poppa home. He tells me in low tones that neither he nor my other brother Alec can pin my father's arrest on my mother. No matter. I have a feeling that it was mother...and that's all I need.

Haymitch and Katniss drop back to talk to me as we walk toward the bakery. "What the fuck was all that about back there?"

"All what about?" I grumble in response.

"Don't play stupid with  _me_ , boy!" Haymitch snaps. "You need to listen...and listen good. You too, Sweetheart," he adds, speaking to Katniss.

"Haymitch, I just thought -"

"Bullshit. You  _didn't_  think. Not for one second. You were too busy playing Mr. Big Untouchable Victor."

"Maybe," I reply slowly, spitting out every word, "Maybe you'd understand if you'd had a couple of lashes laid across your back by that bitch."

Haymitch sighs. "I've said this once and I guess I need to say it again. What's done is done. Put it behind you. You deliberately fuck with any of the Peacekeepers...especially Breccia...and you may as well paint a big bull's-eye on you and every member of your family. They won't do anything to you now...shit, your first Parcel Day is tomorrow...but they'll bide their time and you'll wake up one day minus a family member. Understand?"

"Yeah," I mutter. "I understand."

The problem was, neither Haymitch nor Katniss have ever felt the fire of the lash on their backs, so neither of them could ever really understand.

* * *

Parcel Day.

I should be happy...but I'm not. Today I'll be under a Capitol microscope. And that, of course, means that stealing a minute or two of alone time with Katniss will be pretty near impossible.

Special trains from the Capitol began to arrive on Saturday, bringing everything needed for the festive carnival atmosphere that the Capitol wanted to broadcast to the entire country. Carnival rides, games, and food booths... _lots_  of food booths...were springing up in the Square. Poppa was back to work preparing for the influx of business so many Capitol residents being in District Twelve would bring. Charity Mattock was back at the Community Home. I made her promise to bring all of the Community Home kids to the celebration. Snow knows, they have little enough to celebrate.

One bright spot was the fact that Cressida and her crew were among the correspondents covering Parcel Day. They arrived late Saturday afternoon and I'm sure the other correspondents were jealous of the fact that Katniss and Haymitch offered to host them during their stay here in the comfort of their Victors' Village mansions, rather than the transient quarters offered by the Capitol Liaison's office.

I did not offer any of the rooms in my home.

Cressida ended up staying with Katniss, while Messalla, Castor and Pollux all stayed with Haymitch. Truthfully, I was afraid that having Cressida under my roof would prove to be more than a little unsettling. I'm only too aware of what an attractive woman she is, just as I'm also more than a little confused by Katniss's "hot and cold" attitude towards me, as well as the fact that the relationship between Cressida and myself has evolved into something much more than it was in the beginning...and that in of itself confused me as much as Katniss's behavior toward me does.

Of course, I had to open my house up so that all of the visiting correspondents, including Cressida, could see how well I was settling in. To my surprise, Haymitch was the man they all wanted to interview. After Mentoring exactly zero Victors in his first twenty-three years as a Mentor, he's joined an exclusive group that can boast back-to-back Victors, as well as being the only non-Career Mentor to be able to make such a claim.

He did have one complaint, however. "This used to be a nice, quiet neighborhood until last year," he says jokingly. "Damn kids anyway," he mutters.

Even I had to laugh at that.

It's become a tradition for the new Victor to spend some time passing out the contents of the Parcel Train to the district residents. As I sit in the open boxcar, handing out luxury items such as bags of fresh fruit, tins of chocolate and hard candy, and packages of butcher meat, I think back to the year before, and how much joy Katniss had gotten from such a simple act. I had to admit that it did give me a good feeling, especially when I spot July Barrow herding a bunch of Community Home kids up toward the train.

The Community Home kids accept their parcels solemnly, mumbling their thanks as they tightly clutch the various delicacies, as if they were afraid that someone was going to take them away. July keeps a watchful eye over them all, making sure that each boy and girl got their turn and their fair share.

"It's good to have Miz Mattock back," July admits as I hand out the parcels. "Thanks for gettin' her out."

"I can't take all the credit for that," I reply. "Haymitch Abernathy was the one that knew what buttons to push to make that happen."

"Still," July continues, "you gave enough of a shit to work on gettin' her out. That counts for a lot in my book."

"Thanks," I say, suddenly embarrassed.

"Well," July says as the last of the Community Home kids gets their parcels, "guess I better get this mob back to the Home. Nice talkin' to you."

"Likewise," I reply with a grin.

July turns to go, then turns back toward me suddenly. "You know," he says seriously, "you ain't so bad...for a Townie."

And that word, right there, made me realize just how much I truly miss Gamma Churchill.

* * *

The remainder of the day went quickly. As the guest of honor, I was expected to sample something from every food booth and try every single carnival ride. This, in addition to giving interviews and posing for countless pictures.

I really didn't mind posing for pictures, except when the correspondents insisted on group shots with Haymitch and Katniss, where Haymitch, very carefully, was always careful to be between Katniss and I.

My father and brothers closed the bakery for the day. It was really no use leaving it open...there was too much free food to be had, courtesy of the Capitol. I wasn't able to spend much time with them but I knew that they were enjoying themselves, and I had to wonder if my mother's absence had anything to do with their obvious happiness.

There were some notable absences. Commander Romulus Thread and Sergeant Bellatrix Breccia did not put in an appearance. For that matter, neither did my mother or Udo Donner. I was actually sad not to see Udo appear at the Parcel Train. I was looking forward to seeing the look on his face as I handed him his parcel.

I did enjoy seeing many of my old friends, all of whom seemed to be more than willing to admit that they may have been wrong in their treatment of me following last years' Games. It's a good thing that I am so forgiving. Of course, it's difficult, if not impossible; to stay angry with people like Madge Undersee and Delly Cartwright...especially since they both offered to marry me if it would keep me out of the Games.

By the time the day was done, I was exhausted and the leg that was no longer there was hurting like hell. So of course, Mrs. Everdeen decides to throw an impromptu dinner party at Haymitch's place, with Hazelle Hawthornes help, of course. She said it was to properly welcome me to the neighborhood. It was probably the last thing that I wanted to do.

I was exhausted, stuffed with all manner of exotic food, and more than a little uncomfortable being around both Katniss and Cressida at the same time...especially since the only way I could talk to Katniss was to exchange meaningless small talk. Finally I was able to beg off and return to my own quiet, empty house and hopefully get some decent sleep.

Sleep didn't come right away, however. My reaction toward Cressida was really bothering me. We had spent time together on the Tribute Train and in the Capitol, with Katniss present as well on many occasions, and I never felt awkward. Why now?

I sigh as I toss and turn in my bed. I can rise from my bed, go to the window, and see Katniss's bedroom from my own. That's how close I am to her right now. And it might as well be on the far side of the moon.

Finally sleep comes to me. I halfway expect to be visited by Gale and Gamma tonight...they haven't appeared to me since my return to Twelve...but my sleep, although full of the nightmares that plague me almost every night, is once again free from both Gale Hawthorne and Gamma Churchill.

I never hear a single scream from Katniss's house. Maybe, unlike me, she's enjoying a nightmare-free night tonight. Or, most likely, Prim or her mother is getting to her quickly, before she has a chance to wake up Cressida.

_I want to be the one to comfort her...not her mother or sister._

And, with that thought, I finally drift off into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

It was too good to last. Insistent pounding on my front door awakens me the next morning. I stumble out of bed, pulling a robe on as I make my way down the stairs, muttering curses every step of the way.

Angrily I fling my front door open, revealing Haymitch standing on my front porch, looking every bit as bad as I feel. I glance at the wall clock mounted on a nearby wall...Six thirty five in the morning.

"What?" I snarl as I glare at Haymitch.

"Oh good," Haymitch says. "You're here."

"And where the fuck else  _would_  I be?" I ask sarcastically.

Haymitch ignores my sarcasm and gets right to the point. "There's trouble," he says seriously.

I frown. "Trouble? What kind of trouble?"

Haymitch pauses for a moment before continuing. "It...it's Udo Donner."

"Fucking asshole," I mutter. To Haymitch I ask, "Yeah? What about him?" Maybe now the mystery of where he was during Parcel Day just might be solved. And Haymitch, to his credit, doesn't stretch out the news for dramatic effect.

"He's dead."


	22. CHAPTER 22

**BOOK VIII - ASCENSION**

**Ascension - The act of rising to an important position or a higher level**

**CHAPTER 22**

**PART I**

The sound of a key turning in the lock on my door causes me to look up. I watch as the heavy steel door slides open on its track and Peacekeeper Darius Potter sticks his head into my cell.

"You've been released," he says without preamble. "No charges will be filed against you. You're free to go." Darius smiles ever so slightly as he gives me the good news...a smile that I return readily. I count Darius as one of the "good" Peacekeepers.

I stand slowly. The cell is cramped and uncomfortable, and, even though I only spent a few hours in it, my muscles are already stiff from lack of use.

"I guess it would be too much to expect an apology, huh?" I ask as I carefully stretch, ignoring the protesting stabs of pain as I step into the hallway with Darius at my side.

"Udo Donner's death has been officially classified as a suicide," Darius replies, pointedly ignoring my mention of an apology. "He was last seen yesterday morning by his parents and he failed to return home yesterday after the Parcel Day Celebration. His body was discovered by a group of miners in an outbuilding near the East Entrance. There was a length of electrical cord looped around his neck. He was found hanging from the side of the outbuilding -"

"The 'side?'" I interrupt. "How the hell can you hang yourself from the 'side' of anything?"

"- and a note was found near the body," Darius continues as he escorts me to the main entrance of Peacekeeper Headquarters. We stop briefly at the front desk, where Darius hands me a bag containing my belongings. Officer Hatchet Face glares at me as I sign the property receipt and take the bag. I act like he isn't even there.

Once we leave the vicinity of the front desk, Darius continues, "The note and the evidence at the scene indicate that he did, indeed take his own life. No signs of a struggle, nothing to indicate that he had been hung by force. And, to answer your question, he stuck his neck in a loop of electrical cord that was tied off to the side of the building and simply leaned forward. Loss of consciousness happens quickly in those instances. Once he was out there was no chance for him to change his mind and remove the cord."

We reach the main entrance. I pause and turn toward Darius. "So how do they know I didn't have anything to do with it?"

"We don't have a regular medical examiner," Darius explains, "but the Mine Company doctor examined him. He places the time of death at sometime between noon and two yesterday afternoon."

"In the middle of the Parcel Day Celebration," I mutter.

"Where you had probably a hundred witnesses that could readily...and truthfully...testify that you were nowhere near the East Entrance outbuilding." Darius reaches around and opens the door for me. "Peeta," he says softly, "let it go. Put it behind you. Given your past with Donner, you can't blame Thread for ordering your detention. And he ordered your release personally as soon as the doctor filed his preliminary report."

As I step outside I turn back to Darius one last time. "Thanks," I tell him sincerely.

Darius gives me another small smile. "Anytime."

Darius turns to go back into Peacekeeper Headquarters. "Darius?" He stops and turns back toward me at the sound of my voice. "If I was just Peeta Mellark, baker's son, would I still be sitting in that cell right now?"

Darius looks back at me, his face an impassive mask. "Go home, Peeta." The door shuts firmly behind him as he steps back into the building. I sigh, turn away, and begin walking back to the Village.

* * *

I was walking alone...but I wasn't  _really_  alone. Flush from the knowledge that they would enjoy twelve more months of Parcel Days; the residents of District Twelve that I encountered on my walk back home all greeted me warmly. And why not? They would have warm homes and full bellies for at least one more year. I was still the man of the hour.

_Until next Games, when I have to make a phone call to tell one of these people that their son, my first Mentored Tribute, was just killed._

My path back home takes me through a corner of the Seam, near where Katniss used to live. After a moment, I give in to temptation and alter my path a bit. I have an overwhelming urge to see Katniss's old house.

_Fifteen months ago, she lived here in the Seam, and I lived in Town_ , I say to myself as I walk.  _She barely knew I was alive, and I didn't have the guts to tell her how I felt about her. Now we're rich, famous, and miserable. She knows how I feel but she can't return my feelings because she's Snow's whore._  I kick savagely at a rock with my prosthetic foot and watch with grim satisfaction as it sails away.  _She does what she needs to do to protect her sister. I do what I need to do to protect my family. That makes_ me _Snow's whore, too._

I stop and stare at the familiar, ramshackle house. The same house that I was taken to after my flogging. I smile bitterly.  _What do I have to do to show her that what she's been forced to become doesn't matter to me? I kissed her to show it doesn't matter. I try to give her a pearl to show it doesn't matter. Who is she trying to protect?_ Me? _I'm the one taking the risk here,_ not _her._

I continue to stare at the house, thankful that the Seam is, for the most part, empty right now. Today's a workday. All the adults are working in the mines.  _All she had to do was to take that fucking pearl. But she didn't. She didn't because of what we both have become._

_Snow's whores._

_Snow's puppets. His property. Haymitch tried to tell me. He tried to warn me. But I wouldn't listen. And Katniss refused the pearl because she knows better than I do what's at stake._

A movement in the house catches my eye. Someone is inside...but who could it be? Squatters? There it is again. A quick, furtive movement behind one of the windows. If it is squatters then they are taking a huge risk. Legally, the house is still assigned to Mrs. Everdeen. If anything was to happen to Katniss...in other words, if Katniss should die...both Mrs. Everdeen and Prim would have to move from the Village back to the Seam. The mansions in Victors' Village were for  _Victors_ , after all.

The front door opens suddenly and I melt back into the shadow of another run down Seam home. I watch as Katniss steps into the bright mid summer sunshine and carefully closes the door behind her. I find myself nodding in understanding. Of course. This old, beat up Seam home is a kind of sanctuary for her. A place where she can get away for a couple of hours and be alone.

As Katniss quickly makes her way up the street, heading in the general direction of the Village, I find myself smiling.  _If I ever need to find her quickly, I know where to look now._  But as quickly as it came I can feel my smile fade.  _But I won't. That's_ her _space. And our relationship is unstable enough already. If she thought I was invading her personal hideaway she would lose what trust she has in me._

As I begin to make my way out of the Seam and back toward the Village, I pause and look back at her house one last time.  _Your secret is safe with me, Katniss. I'll stay away. But, Snow only knows that I don't_ want _to._

**PART II**

I'm sitting at home later that day, idly doodling on a sketchpad, when Haymitch comes into my house.

"Doors open," I say sarcastically as he walks into my living room. "Oh, and by the way, I'm not being charged with Udo's death. I can tell how worried you were about that."

"Can it," Haymitch grumbles. "If I was worried, I'd have been down there in a heartbeat. Your father, too. And quite probably Delly Cartwright and Madge Undersee as well. So climb off of your high horse and listen to me for a change."

Haymitch's sudden outburst startles me. I think he startled himself as well. He stands there awkwardly for a few moments before thrusting an object that he had been holding at me.

"What's this?" I ask.

"Something appropriate for your age and...situation," Haymitch explains. I glance at the object. It's a book, and from the look of it quite old.

I read the title of the book. "'Romeo and Juliet, by William Shakespeare.'" I glance up at Haymitch. "This is Pre-Catastrophe, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Haymitch says, nodding. "So be careful with it."

"So where did  _you_  get it?" I ask.

"A friend at the National Library in the Capitol," Haymitch replies. "I borrowed it while you were in the hospital." He pauses for a moment. "Read it, kid. Maybe you'll be able to look at things with a clearer head once you do."

I shake my head, half sadly, half in disgust, as I carefully lay the book and my sketchpad on the end table next to my chair. "You're unbelievable. I'm dragged from my home this morning -"

"Not dragged," Haymitch corrects. "The Peacekeepers requested that you accompany them."

"-  _and_  locked up in a cell for hours, only to be released without a word of apology. And no one... _no one_...was there when they finally let me go. And now you expect me to reading a fucking  _book_?"

"Peeta." Haymitch says softly as he sits across from me. One thing I've learned is to listen when he actually uses my name. "Look. Snow knows that this ain't been easy for you. And all that shit with the Donner kid this mornin'..." He pauses and looks around the room before standing up. "Come on. It's a nice day out. Let's take a walk."

I don't argue. Whatever Haymitch has to say, he doesn't want to say it where the bugs will pick it up. Wordlessly I stand up and follow him out of the house.

We walk into the Village Green...the wide strip of carefully tended lawn that separates the two rows of mansions in the Village...before Haymitch begins to talk again.

"You weren't arrested this morning," he says as we walk. "You were 'detained' as a 'person of interest.' I talked with Purnia and she assured me that the Donner kid killed himself...it was just a matter of gettin' the Company doc to assign a time of death. Your bein' held was a matter of policy."

"And what if this doctor said that Udo died, say, early yesterday morning...before the Parcel Day Celebration even began?" I ask.

"But he didn't," Haymitch replies brusquely. "Look, kid...Purnia's like Darius. She's one of the good ones. And she was the one that suggested that we all stay away until you could be officially cleared. Believe me, I had to stop your old man and Katniss from -"

"Wait. Katniss?" She knew? She cared?

Haymitch grunts in irritation. "- like I was sayin', I had to stop your old man and  _Katniss_  from makin' things worse...which they woulda done if they'd gone to Peacekeeper Headquarters."

Haymitch pauses and pulls his flask out, takes a deep pull, and slips the flask back into his pocket before continuing. "And just between us, kid...as a Victor, you can literally get away with murder...as long as it ain't a Capitol citizen you're killin'. I've seen it done, believe me."

I'm barely paying attention to what Haymitch is saying. Katniss cares. She really cares.

And, from what he says next, I'm sure Haymitch notices the stupid grin on my face.

"Regarding Katniss," Haymitch continues, "I don't want you readin' anything into what I told you just now. Katniss was defendin' a fellow district Mentor, nothing more."

"And I'm sure she would have done the same for you," I reply sarcastically.

Haymitch stops suddenly, spins, and grabs my shoulders firmly. "Yeah. Yeah, she would have. Boy, I've tried to be patient with you. I've tried to sugar coat everything. But you're so fuckin' lovesick that you just can't see it!"

"See what?" I ask defiantly.

"Katniss doesn't want you," Haymitch says brutally. "She never did. You've built this fantasy in your mind about you and her. You've carried a fuckin' torch for that girl for so long that you can't think straight when it comes to her! Boy, for once, start thinkin' with the head on your shoulders rather than the head on your dick!"

I try to twist away, but Haymitch is deceptively strong. "I don't have to listen to this shit!" I hiss.

"Yeah, you do," Haymitch says through clenched teeth. "And you're gonna. Every fuckin' word! Boy, I'll spell it out for you in words that even you can understand. Katniss  _does not_  love you. She never has and she never will. Get that through your thick head!"

"What about the hospital? When she was crying?" I'm practically shouting now, and I don't much give a shit if anyone hears me.

Haymitch gives me a pained look. "Kid, she was worried.  _I_  was worried. Look...she cares for you.  _I_ care for you. But  _carin'_  ain't the same as  _lovin'_." I feel Haymitch's hands relax on my shoulders but I don't pull away.

"Look, kid," Haymitch continues softly. "Peeta. I'm sorry. You know what she does...what she  _has_  to do. And you know what you gotta do also."

"Yeah," I say bitterly, practically spitting out each word. "I know. She has to whore for Snow and I have to stay away from her. Because if I don't my family will die." I look up at Haymitch. "Are you sure? Are you sure she doesn't...can't...love me?"

"Yeah," Haymitch replies huskily. "I'm sure."

I slowly turn away from Haymitch and jam my hands in my pockets. With my head down, I begin to walk back to my house. To my prison.

"Peeta?" Haymitch's voice stops me. I don't turn around.

"I'm going home, Haymitch," I reply listlessly. "I have some reading to do."

* * *

_Haymitch watches as Peeta shuffles dejectedly across the Green toward his magnificent new home. He sighs deeply, pulls his flask out, takes a deep drink, and then carefully replaces it in his jacket pocket._

_"It's for your own good, kid," he whispers as the sound of Peeta's front door slamming shut echoes throughout the Village. "Yours...and hers, too."_

I wonder if I'm still as good a liar as I was when I was younger,  _Haymitch wonders as he, too, slowly makes his way back to his house._

**PART III**

The insistent ringing of the telephone wakes me up.

The receiver is on the low table next to the couch. I reach over and pick it up and look at the display screen before pressing the "Accept Call" button.

"Yes, Effie," I mumble while stifling a yawn.

"Peeta! Are you alright?"

_No, Effie. My life is fucking ruined._  "Of course, Effie. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, you rarely answer your calls, and when you do, like today, the phone rings  _forever_  before you pick up!" Effie's voice is a cross between concern and exasperation. I find myself smiling at the thought of some carefully organized schedule being thrown into turmoil, all because I hardly ever answer my phone.

I can't remember the last time I smiled before today.

"What's up, Effie?" I ask somewhat listlessly.

"Well," Effie replies enthusiastically, "I was thinking. Now that the Parcel Day Celebration is behind you, you need to start thinking about your Talent."

I sigh. "My Talent?"

"Why, yes," Effie continues. "You're a Victor now, Peeta. You aren't expected to work. You're expected to enjoy your life and develop a Talent."

_I guess you don't consider Katniss being forced to fuck whoever Snow tells her to fuck as_ work _, Effie? Or is that her "Talent?"_ "Oh. I hadn't really thought about it."

"And that's why  _I'm_  here, dear!" Effie gushes. "I already have a wonderful idea for you. I understand you are an artist?"

"I doodle a little bit," I reply carefully.

"Well, that's not what I hear! From what I understand, you are quite good! Now, with your permission of course, I can have everything that you need to develop this Talent on the next train to District Twelve!" Effie sounds positively giddy at the prospect. "Paper, pencils, easels, canvas, paints...you name it! What do you say?"

I hesitate for a moment. Maybe that's what I need. Something to take my mind off of..."Okay. That sounds great, Effie. Thank you."

"No, Peeta. Thank  _you_!" If Effie weren't on the phone she would be doing handsprings right about now. I'm sure of it. "You simply can't  _imagine_ how difficult Katniss was last year! She rejected every idea I gave her! Singing, dancing, and playing musical instruments...I even sent her a flute! Do you know what she finally settled on?"

_Effie doesn't know about Katniss and I. Don't take it out on her._  "What, Effie?" I manage to choke out.

"Fashion design! Can you imagine?  _Katniss Everdeen_ from  _District Twelve_ , of all places? Of course, Cinna was  _helping_  her and...Peeta? Are you all right?"

I cup my hand over the mouthpiece and take a deep, shuddering breath, quickly wiping my eyes before I can trust myself to speak again. "Yeah," I reply hoarsely. "It's...coal dust. In the air."

"Oh. Well! I can certainly understand  _that_! Anyway, Peeta, I have a  _million_  things to finish today. I'll get those supplies on the next train. And don't worry about picking them up...I'll have the freight office in Twelve deliver them personally! But do call me when you get them!"

"I will Effie. I promise."

"Wonderful, dear! Bye for now!"

"Bye, Effie." But she's already hung up. I push the "End Call" button and toss the phone back on the table.

The phone lands next to the book that Haymitch loaned me. I've been meaning to return it to him. I sigh and swing my legs over the edge of the couch and stand up, grabbing the book as I do.

No time like the present.

* * *

I push open the door to Haymitch's house, not bothering to knock. The house is quiet. This late in the day, Hazelle would have already finished her work and would have already gone home.

I don't have far to go to find Haymitch. He's sprawled out across his kitchen table, snoring softly, a nearly empty bottle sitting on the table in front of him.

I toss the book onto the table, where it lands with a loud thump next to the bottle. Haymitch jerks slightly, snorts loudly, and slowly picks his head up, staring at me with bleary eyes before he slowly passes his hand across his face.

"So," he slowly says, "I see you're still alive."

I point to the table. "I brought your book back."

Haymitch reaches out and picks up the book, then looks up at me. "And?"

I shrug my shoulders. "'And' what? I read it, like you told me to."

Haymitch sighs heavily. "I 'suggested' you read it. I didn't 'tell' you to read it. But, now that you read it, what did you think?"

I shrug again. "It was hard to read. The people back then talked funny."

Haymitch makes a "come on" gesture with his hand. "I meant, what did you think of the story?"

"I'm assuming that you wanted me to read it because you thought that it somehow was relevant to my life now," I reply. "If that's the case, then it's bullshit."

Haymitch leans back in his chair. "How so?"

"The Montague's and the Capulet's don't even remotely resemble the Mellark's and the Everdeen's. Katniss and I aren't 'Star-Crossed,' and we certainly aren't 'Lovers.' And, as you pointed out a minute ago, I'm still alive. Romeo and Juliet were both dead by the end of  _their_  story."

"You missed the point, kid," Haymitch says patiently.

"Which is?"

"Life ain't fair, and sometimes you don't get what you want."

"Ain't that the fuckin' truth," I mutter. "Anyway, there's your book. Thanks." I turn to go.

Before I can take a step, Haymitch and I both turn at the sound of his back door swinging open, just in time to see Katniss step into the house. "Haymitch, I -" she begins to say before she sees me and freezes in place.

I swallow my heart, glancing quickly at Haymitch, then back at Katniss. It's been days since I've seen her...since the Parcel Day Celebration, in fact. "Excuse me," I mutter as I spin around and head for the front door.

"Peeta -" Katniss calls out as I fling the door open, quickly step through, and slam it shut behind me. I don't turn back. I move as quickly as my prosthetic leg will carry me across the Green to my own house, cursing the fact that I can't yet run. Behind me, I hear Haymitch's front door open and Katniss call out my name again. I don't stop or look back. I pull my door open, stumble into my house, and slam the door shut behind me.

I lean back against the door; my breath coming in rasping sobs, and wait for the inevitable pounding on my door that would signify an angry Katniss on the other side.

The pounding never comes...and I don't know whether to be relieved...or disappointed.

* * *

My art supplies arrive a week later. I had developed my original artistic talents by decorating cakes and cookies at the bakery, but I have always loved to draw. The margins of every school paper I have ever written are covered with small doodles.

My teachers always complimented me on my artistic talents. Mother always complained that my excessive drawing "wasted" valuable pencils.

Well, she didn't have to worry about that any more. I now had more painting and drawing supplies than I knew what to do with. I set up one of my spare bedrooms as a studio and, within the space of a few days, I find myself spending most of my waking hours there.

I begin baking again, too. For me, the trick was to learn not to bake too much. Of course, I shared what I baked with Haymitch and the Everdeens...always being careful to go to Katniss's house when I knew she wasn't there. I knew she wasn't hunting...with the fence on twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, there was no way that she could get outside the fence to hunt. But she did have her sanctuary in the Seam that she could retreat to whenever she has to get away.

From the looks of things, she has to get away a lot.

I'm not entirely alone. My father visits regularly. I tried one visit to my old house in Town but that was such a disaster that I told my father and brothers that if they wanted to see me that they would have to come out to the Village. I see Poppa once or twice a week...my brothers come out maybe once or twice a month. Our visits are never very long. We usually run out of things to say in an hour or so. But sometimes it's just nice to sit with Poppa and say nothing.

I see Delly and Madge a lot also. Madge and Katniss spend a lot of time together as well...aside from Gale Hawthorne, Madge was just about Katniss's only pre-Games friend. Madge tells me that Katniss spends a lot of time at her father's house in Town. She says that Katniss mostly just sits and listens while Madge plays the piano. Thankfully, Madge doesn't bring up the subject of Udo much...and I don't ask, even though I did offer my condolences to her the first time I saw her after Udo's death.

However, I do find myself clinging to every scrap of news about Katniss that I can...and I really hate myself for it.

Delly's different, thank goodness. She talks on and on about school...about the kids in her class (it would have been my class as well if I were still going to school), about the shoe store, and about life in District Twelve in general. Delly loves to gossip but she is never mean or malicious...what she talks about are just general tidbits of news...babies being born, people getting married, that sort of thing. Delly never fails to make me smile.

I sometime get visits from Mrs. Everdeen and Prim Everdeen as well, but they never stay very long. I get the distinct impression that they are just checking up on me at Haymitch's request...or, at least Mrs. Everdeen is. Mrs. Everdeen never fails to invite me to dinner, which I always politely decline. Prim sometimes brings me a dinner plate if Mrs. Everdeen makes too much...which doesn't happen very often. Seam frugality is a hard habit to stop.

Tonight was one of those times. I was upstairs working on my first real on-canvas painting when an insistent knocking started on the door.

Truthfully, I welcomed the break. I dump my brushes in a jar of paint thinner and wipe my hands off on a rag as I walk downstairs.

Sure enough, it was Prim. "We had extra tonight," she explains as she hands me a covered plate.

"Thanks," I grin, taking the plate. "Want to come in?"

"Sure," she says with a smile. I sit down at the kitchen table, Prim joining me. I have a formal dining room...a grand, well-lit room with high, arched ceilings and a table that could easily fit twelve people. I looked in it once before closing the door. I haven't looked at it since.

"What were those workmen doing the other day?" Prim asks as I begin to eat. It's one of my favorites...groosling. Butcher shop meat. Even if Katniss could still get out and hunt, she's never brought groosling home. They don't live this far north.

"Moving all the exercise equipment from Haymitch's basement to mine," I explain. "Haymitch will never use it, and it's a great way to -"  _a great way to work off the stress that just living_ near _your sister is giving me._  "- keep in shape," I finish lamely.

"Oh," Prim replies. "Katniss still runs, early in the morning. Just about every day."

_No doubt at the direction of the Gamemakers. They want her fit and toned. After all, who wants to fuck a flabby -_ I feel myself flush with shame and self-loathing even before I can finish the thought. My fork drops to my plate with a clatter. No matter what, what she's forced to do is  _not_  her fault.

"Peeta?" I glance up to see Prim looking at me intently, concern etched on her face. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I practically whisper. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks, Prim." Prim responds with a warm smile.

How unlike her sister she is! Blonde, blue eyed, with a ready smile and a sunny disposition...so unlike dark haired, gray eyed, sullen and surly Katniss. I think that she's sensed that talking about Katniss is bothering me, so she's changed the subject. Prim is now talking about a ceremony that they had at school that day...one that they have every year at about this time.

"They hung your pictures today," Prim is saying. "Yours and Gamma's. In Tribute Hall."

I carry the now-empty plate to the sink where I carefully wash it. "Oh? How do we look?"

"Good," Prim replies thoughtfully. "They made Gamma look pretty. She would have liked that, I think."

"Yeah," I reply, handing the plate back to Prim. "She would have." I look at Prim thoughtfully. "Did you know her very well, Prim?"

She shrugs. "Not really. I was pretty young when she and her brother went to the Home."

"Prim," I ask suddenly, "would you like to see what I've been painting?"

Prim's eyes light up. "Sure!"

I smile. "Come on." Together we walk up the stairs and enter what I've already been calling my "studio." I flick the light switch and hear Prim gasp as my first nearly completed painting is illuminated.

"Wow," she breathes. "This is incredible!"

The face of Gamma Churchill gazes out from the canvas, a mysterious little half-smile playing on her face. She's dressed the way she was the night of the Tribute Interviews. In one hand she clutches a bouquet of daisies. Her other hand, hanging at her side, has the middle finger subtly extended. Her eyes glint with mischief as if she's laughing inwardly at a joke that only she understands.

"I love it," Prim sighs. "Peeta, it's wonderful! And her finger..."

"That was all Gamma," I say with a smile. "I miss her," I add simply.

Prim nods slightly. "I bet you do." She looks up at me. "What are you gonna do with it?"

"I wasn't sure until just now," I reply, "but I think I will donate it to the Community Home."

"They'll like that," Prim says. She glances at her watch. "Oh, shoot! I have to get home." She rises up and gives me a quick kiss on my cheek. "Bye, Peeta! Thanks for showing me the portrait!"

Prim races downstairs, grabbing up the plate while I follow somewhat more slowly. "I can let myself out. Thanks again, Peeta!"

"Thank  _you_ , Prim," I reply with a smile. "And thank your mother for dinner."

"I will," she says, right before the door slams behind her.

Her visit was just what I needed. I smile, turn, and walk back up the stairs to finish Gamma's portrait.

* * *

The next morning, I leave early to walk into town and deliver the portrait to the Community Home.

I slip the canvas into a canvas carrier that boasts a pair of straps so it can be carried like a backpack. After adjusting the straps I head off into Town. It's a beautiful late summer day in District Twelve.

Along the way I see a few people here and there. All greet me warmly and enthusiastically. Again, as always, I wonder if their attitude towards me will change after the next Games...and someone's son comes home in a simple wooden coffin.

The streets and the Square are mostly empty this time of day. Everyone's either at work or at school. I should be able to complete my delivery quickly. I'm anxious to get back home and begin work on some other portrait ideas that I have. Right now, they exist only as sketches, but I want to get them on canvas as quickly as I can.

I arrive quickly at the Community Home and let myself in. Since the incident with the licensing fees, there have been no further incidents involving either my father or the Home. Either he or one of my brothers delivers several times a week. I'm even beginning to think that Poppa is enjoying his visits there.

All of the older kids are in school right now, of course. Charity Mattock is the only staff member on duty right now. She looks up from her position at the front desk and gives me a quick smile when she sees that it's me.

"I'll be with you in a few minutes, Mr. Mellark," she says as her attention turns back to the woman seated in front of her. I notice the woman for the first time. She's older, wearing threadbare clothing and with iron-gray hair.  _Some kid's grandmother_ , I say to myself,  _who probably inherited a grandchild or two when the parent or parents died, and now can't take care of the kids any more._  I feel bad for people in this situation, but sometimes, it's the only option.

I look back at the woman again. Something about her is hauntingly familiar. I know that I've met her before. It's -

"Miz Sae?" I ask quietly. "Is that you?"

The woman that I had known as Greasy Sae turns slowly around in her chair, her eyes slowly focusing on me. "Oh. The baker's son. Hello, boy," she says with a small smile.

Charity Mattock leans forward and gently touches Sae's arm. "He's also a Victor now, ma'am," she explains softly. "Sign here, please."

"What are you doing here?" I ask. Just beyond her I can see a small girl, dressed similarly in threadbare castoffs, playing with something on the floor. I remember now that Sae had a granddaughter that wasn't quite right in the head, and even as I ask the question, the realization of why she's here hits me.

She's turning her granddaughter over to the Community Home.

Sae looks sadly at the little girl. "I...I can't take care of her no more," she says softly. "Ever since I lost my stall in the Hob, I been struggling." She pauses for a moment. "It's for the best, right, Miss Mattock?"

"We'll take care of her, Miz Sae," Charity Mattock replies gently. "Now sign here."

An idea comes to me. "Wait!" Both Sae and Charity look up at me in surprise. "Miz Sae, you need a job?"

"No one'll hire an old, tired woman," Sae admits softly.

"I will," I say firmly. "I could use a housekeeper and cook." Truthfully, my house is always picked up and clean, and I need a cook and housekeeper about as much as I needed another stint as Tribute, but her cooking is amazing...and she needs a job.

Sae looks at me suspiciously. "You offern' me a  _job_?"

I nod. "Starting tomorrow morning. Seven o'clock. Sharp."

Sae looks like she's about to faint. "Yes," she stammers hoarsely. "Yes. Seven sharp, Mr. Mellark." She turns toward the little girl and makes a sharp gesture before turning back to Charity Mattock. "I'm sorry, Miss Mattock. I ain't gonna be committin' my girl."

Charity eyes her skeptically. "You don't even know what he's paying you!"

"Oh." Sae turns back toward me. "What's the pay, Mr. Mellark?"

"What would you like, Miz Sae?"

Sae thinks for a moment before quoting a figure. She watches me anxiously. I shake my head slowly. "No," I say, "No, that won't do." I immediately name a different price, easily twice what she had named. "Will that be enough?"

Sae's eyes widen as she stands on shaky legs. "Oh yes," she whispers, her eyes shining. "Yes. Thank you so much!" She gathers up her granddaughter and turns to leave. "Bless you, Mr. Mellark!"

"It's Peeta," I correct gently. "Mr. Mellark is my father. Remember, seven sharp. My house is directly across from Katniss's."

"I'll be there!" Sae says, and then gives me a brief, tight hug before departing with her granddaughter.

Smiling, I turn back to Charity Mattock. "I hope I didn't mess up something for you," I say.

The Community Home Director shakes her head. "No," she replies. "If anything, you just made my day...and maybe even my week!" She glances toward the canvas bag. "Now, you have something for me?"

As we discuss the portrait of Gamma, and where she intends to hang it, I realize that I, too, felt better than I had felt all week.

_And I was even able to speak Katniss's name without getting choked up._

**PART IV**

"It's nice," Prim is saying, "what you're doing for Greasy Sae."

We're sitting on the front steps of my house, enjoying a warm early fall evening. Prim's cat, Buttercup, is playing with a small rubber ball at our feet, stopping every so often to accept a scratch behind the ears from either Prim or myself. According to Prim, I'm the only other human that Buttercup tolerates, let alone likes.

"Are you kidding? That woman is an amazing cook! You should be saying that it's nice what  _she's_  doing for  _me_!" I pick up the ball and toss it gently onto a patch of lawn and watch, amused, as Buttercup chases it down.

"You know what I mean," Prim says in mock irritation. "She would have lost her granddaughter if not for you." Prim picks up the ball and bounces it playfully in front of Buttercup, laughing softly as the cat frantically tries to catch the ball in mid-flight.

"I'm just glad I could help," I mutter, embarrassed.

"Katniss says that it just shows that you really are truly a good person," Prim states matter-of-factly.

"I guess so," I murmur. Prim always does this. She always manages to slip in a "Katniss says" comment every time we talk. And I always try to hide how I feel. I'm not sure how successful I am.

It's not chance that Prim chose tonight to pay me a visit. Katniss had left that morning for the Capitol by special train...called away on some flimsy pretense. It's the first time she's been called to the Capitol since our return from my Games.

As popular as she is, I'm surprised that Snow waited this long.

Tonight, Prim had returned some bread pans to me as her excuse for her visit. But I can fathom her real reason...and I have been dreading it ever since I answered her knock on my door.

She wants to talk about Katniss. And her "Katniss says" comment was her opening.

"I saw the pictures," Prim says suddenly, and then adds, "and your letter."

I glance sharply at her. "She  _showed_  them to you?"

"Oh, no!" Prim replies quickly. "She had stuck them in a book. I found them when I was looking at the book."

I frown. "What book?"

Prim shrugs. "Something called 'Great Expectations.' Katniss said that Haymitch loaned it to her." Prim laughs softly. "Katniss is a slow reader. She's had that book for weeks."

"Does she know that you saw the pictures and the letter?" I ask, feeling myself flush with embarrassment.

"Oh, no! I put them back exactly as I found them!"

"Oh." I didn't know what else to say.

"I wasn't snooping," Prim says defensively. "Katniss is...well, a very private person. Even to me in a lot of ways. And you learn to value privacy living in the Seam." Prim pauses for a moment. "The drawings were really good."

"Thanks," I mutter softly.

"So was the letter you wrote her," Prim adds.

I sigh heavily. "Prim -"

"I know you hate talking about her," Prim says quickly. "You always change the subject or just flat-out pretend that you didn't hear me when I mention something about her." Prim pauses and looks up at me, eyes shining. "I know what she does."

I'm not surprised or shocked. Prim is smart. She can figure things out on her own. "How did you find out?"

"What she says when she's having a nightmare," Prim replies. "She calls out names. And I can tell if she's dreaming about the Games, or about...that."

"How?" I practically whisper the question.

"Because she doesn't yell out my name when she dreams of the Games. Or your name, for that matter."

" _My_  name?"

"Yeah." Prim replies softly before adding, "not very often, though. Only sometimes." She pauses for a moment, wiping her eyes. "She's gonna have new nightmares when she comes back home, won't she?"

I don't answer immediately. Instead, I stare off toward her house, remembering all the nights since I've lived out here, both alone and with Haymitch, where I've heard Katniss screaming in the night.

"- ever hear you?" Prim is saying.

"What?" I sit up and turn to face Prim. "I'm sorry. I was...thinking. What did you say?"

"I said, 'why don't we ever hear you?' Screaming, I mean. You have bad dreams too, right?"

I nod slowly. "Yeah. I do. Just like Katniss. Just like Haymitch."

"But you never scream."

"No." I rub my hand over my face slowly. "It's like I can't move. I wake up, frozen, scared, but then I realize -" I stop suddenly.  _How can I explain to this girl that my dreams always start out about my Games, but that somehow, Gamma becomes Katniss and my dreams always end up with Katniss dying like Gamma did?_

"Realize what, Peeta?" Prim asks gently.

"I realize that I'm...here, safe," I lie.  _No, I look out my window and I see lights on in your house and realize that Katniss is okay. Well...alive, maybe. Not necessarily okay._

I glance over at Prim. She looks far from convinced at my explanation for my dreams, but says nothing. Idly she reaches down and scratches Buttercup behind one tattered ear. He purrs contentedly and rubs his head against her hand.

"You're just like Katniss, you know," Prim says softly. "You're both stubborn. You both won't talk about what really bothers you. And you are both hurting the other, whether or not you realize it."

I sigh deeply. "It's...Prim, it's not that simple."

Prim twists around on the steps so that she's directly facing me. "Then explain it to me. Katniss never explains anything to me! I ask her what's wrong, and can I help, and do you want to talk about it, and all she does is kiss the top of my head and say 'When you're a little older, Little Duck.'" Prim's voice is brimming with frustration as she speaks. "I'm not a child! I'm thirteen! When Katniss was thirteen, she and Gale were hunting every day and trading in the Hob!"

"She's just trying to protect you," I say lamely.

"I don't want to be 'protected!' I want to understand what's going on!" Prim is crying openly now...tears of anger, of frustration, and of concern for her beloved sister. "And don't you  _dare_  tell me I'm not old enough to understand, Peeta Mellark! If I'm old enough to have my name in the Reaping Ball, I'm old enough to understand why everyone around me is miserable!"

I stare at this incredible girl...who, I now realize, is probably the sole voice of reason in Victors' Village...and I come to a decision right then and there. She won't like what I have to say, but she asked for it.

"Okay. You wanted to know, so here it is. The President sells your sister to rich Capitolites," I begin, as Prim snuffles loudly. "He doesn't do it for the money. He does it to show her how much he controls her." I pause for a moment to gather my thoughts as Prim listens, wide-eyed. "The President didn't like the idea of Katniss winning, and her popularity is threatening to him. So he forces her to have sex with whoever he tells her to as a way to control her. And he threatens you and your mother to do it."

"My mother and I?" Prim asks softly.

"If Katniss refused," I reply bluntly, "you would be dead right now. Have you ever heard of Johanna Mason?"

Prim thinks for a moment. "She's the girl from Seven with the short, spiky black hair?"

"Yeah. President Snow tried to whore her out too. She laughed at him." I pause before continuing on. "Her entire family is dead now. Everyone she ever loved. It happened to Haymitch, too, after his Games. He did something to anger Snow. His mother, brother, and girlfriend were all killed."

Prim sits silently, so I continue on. "Finnick Odair from Four. Cashmere and Gloss from One. There are others. All whored out by President Snow in the name of 'control.'"

"How do you know all this?" Prim whispers.

I smile humorlessly. "Some I was able to figure out on my own. As for the rest...I kept bugging Haymitch about it until he told me."

"And what about you, Peeta?" Prim asks fearfully. "Are you...are you..."

"No," I reply. "At least, not yet. President Snow did something different to me."

"He told you to stay away from Katniss, didn't he?" I glance sharply at Prim. Did Katniss say something to her? No, of course she wouldn't.

Prim must have been able to read the expression on my face. "She didn't say anything to me. She didn't have to. Peeta, you've been avoiding her ever since you came home. You never come over when she's home, you never accept dinner invitations, you'll ask about her but then change the subject. So you must have been told to stay away from her."

"Yeah," I admit quietly. "Yeah, I was."

"There's something else, though, isn't there?" Prim asks gently. "Something you haven't told me yet."

"No," I lie. "No, that's it. Only that President Snow threatened my family, too, if I didn't do what he told me to do."

"Hmmph." Prim is unconvinced that there isn't more for me to tell.  _And, oh, by the way, Prim...your sister, that I have loved for over twelve years, doesn't return my love, has never loved me, and never_ will _love me._  No, that part is  _too_  personal.

Prim stands up suddenly. "I should be going. Thank you for telling me." She leans forward and kisses my cheek quickly. "And for the bread. You'll bring more over when you come to dinner tomorrow night?"

"Of course," I say with a small smile. "And you're sure Haymitch is coming over too?"

"He'll be there," Prim replies with a smile of her own. "Mother is very persuasive when she wants to be."

I watch as Prim skips back across the green, Buttercup running close behind, and disappears back into Katniss's mansion. Only after her door closes do I stand up slowly, walk back into my own house, and trudge upstairs to my studio.

I snap on the light and stare thoughtfully at my latest work...Katniss wearing her Tribute Interview dress. It's just about completed. I pick up a palette and squeeze some paints onto it, grabbing a fine tipped paintbrush out of the jar of thinner where it had been soaking. Carefully, I wipe the thinner off the brush before I go to work.

"Why do you call my name in the middle of the night, Katniss?" I whisper.

But, of course, the Katniss on the canvas doesn't reply.

**PART V**

"Peeta, these are...well,  _incredible_!" Effie gushes. We're standing in my studio as she examines the portraits and other paintings that I've selected to display my "Talent" while on my Victory Tour.

The paintings are a mix of the absolute horrific...Evie's death by mutt-snake, my allies drenched in blood rain, Husker lying face down on a rock-covered beach with an arrow jutting from his head...to the pastoral: Katniss in her Tribute Interview dress, Gamma and Husker laughing at some joke during training, Prim milking her goat, Lady.

"Thanks, Effie," I mutter. Today's the day I leave for my Victory Tour. Soon, a truck from the train station will arrive and baggage handlers from District Six will carefully pack up my art...samples of which will be displayed in every district during the Tour. Effie tells me that an entire gallery in the Capitol has been set aside to display my paintings while I'm there.

Effie is prattling on about the schedule, but I'm only half listening. I have been dreading this day. Not because of the Victory Tour and the obscenity that it represents, with me being paraded in front of each and every district as a reminder that I won, and their children returned in wooden boxes. No, I'm dreading it because, for the next two-plus weeks, I will be in forced close proximity to Katniss Everdeen.

Maybe I'm being petulant. Maybe I'm acting childish. But it's difficult enough to be given a stay away order from the President of Panem himself...when you add to the knowledge that the girl you've loved for over twelve  _years_  will never return your feelings the thought of having to spend over two weeks living under the same roof becomes downright unbearable.

"Now," Effie continues, "we have a  _very_  tight schedule today! We have the live feed with Caesar Flickerman at twelve o'clock, sharp! We  _must_  be ready to leave immediately following the feed, as the train is scheduled to depart for District Eleven at twelve twenty. Portia and your Prep Team will be here ninety minutes before showtime to get you ready. Cressida and her crew, along with Cinna, will be here at eleven to -"

"Cinna?" I ask sharply. "Why Cinna?"

"Why...for Katniss, of course!" Effie explains somewhat impatiently. "She doesn't get the 'full treatment,' of course...but Cinna has her entire wardrobe for all of your appearances, and it was thought best that he accompany -"

"Funny that Haymitch doesn't seem to need the attentions of his own  _personal_ stylist," I mutter darkly.

"- that he accompany the Tour to assist both Katniss  _and_  Haymitch with their wardrobes for the numerous appearances that you  _all_  will be making," Effie finishes in a huff. She fixes me with a glare. "Honestly, Peeta! What has  _gotten_  into you?"

"Sorry, Effie," I murmur. "I'm just a little stressed. The Tour, and all."  _And in having to be rubbing elbows with Katniss for two weeks while smiling the whole time._

Effie's gaze softens as she says, "Oh, I understand, dear." She chuckles quietly. "I mean, you should have  _seen_  Katniss last year on  _her_  tour! Don't get me wrong...I love that girl dearly...but at times she was such a b...i...t...c...h, if you know what I mean!"

In spite of myself, I begin to chuckle. I don't know what's funnier...Effie admitting that she thought Katniss was a bitch during her Tour...or the fact that she felt she had to spell it out rather than just come out and say it.

Effie pats me on the shoulder. "That's better," she says with a smile. "Listen. Today will be very hectic. District Eleven is only a few hours away by train so our first appearance is scheduled there for later on this afternoon, followed immediately by the Mayor's Reception. Once we board the train, why don't you excuse yourself for an hour or two and take a nap? I want you fresh and smiling for your first official appearance!"

"Thanks, Effie," I reply. "I just might do that."

Before either of us could say anything else, the sound of my front door opening was accompanied by a shout from Haymitch. "Hey, kid! The freight guys are here to pick up your drawings!"

Effie looks at her scheduler and smiles. "Right on time!"

I simply nod and smile. All is right with the world if nothing upsets Effie's schedule.

* * *

"Take care of yourself, son," Poppa says softly.

"I will, Poppa," I promise. "You don't need to worry about me. I'm not a child anymore."

"No," Poppa says thickly, "No, you're not."

We're at the train station. I've already said my goodbyes to Madge, Delly and Coach...who surprised me by showing up here today ("I missed saying goodbye the first time you went away," he had said, "I'll not miss this!"). Mother is conspicuously absent, as are my brothers...but they are busy at the bakery, and besides, they both came out to my house the night before.

There are a few others...Mrs. Everdeen and Prim, Mayor Undersee, and the Capitol Liaison, Hadrian Clark. But that's it. My Homecoming will be different...something along the lines of when I first returned from the Games. Of course, the Victors' home district is always the last stop on any Victory Tour, and in spite of the frigid weather...it is almost winter after all...the turn out was bound to be large and enthusiastic.

No one was going to miss another party where the Capitol picked up the tab...especially where free food was involved.

Mrs. Everdeen and Prim both hug me enthusiastically, while Katniss watches with that oh so familiar impassive set to her face. I quickly look away before she can catch me looking at her. In spite of everything over the last few months, I can still feel my heart beat a little faster when I look at her.

Cressida and her crew are there, recording every second. They also did the live feed from the Village, where Caesar Flickerman performed a brief interview to bring the rest of Panem up to date on the life of its latest Victor. No doubt she will be busy on the trip to District Eleven, editing my departure down to a few seconds of usable footage for broadcast later that evening.

"Peeta," Effie calls anxiously. "Time!"

"Okay, Effie," I reply. I pick up my small duffle bag. Poppa eyes it dubiously.

"Everything you need for the next two weeks, in that little bag?" He says doubtfully.

I laugh. "Just a few personal items. Portia and my Prep Team have every stitch of clothing that I'll be wearing already on the train."

Poppa silently hands me a small bag. "Maybe...you have room for this, then."

I take the bag with trembling fingers. I already know what's inside. "Thank you, Poppa," I whisper. The aroma of the cookies inside fills my nose, a dozen memories bursting to the surface. I hug Poppa impulsively.

"I love you, Poppa," I choke out.

"I love you, Peeta," he replies. "Now go, before Miss Trinket has a stroke."

I quickly board the train, standing in the open doorway waving at the small crowd that has come to say goodbye. The platform quickly slips past and the view of the train station is replaced by row upon row of ramshackle houses as we pass the Seam.

"Peeta," a soft voice says from behind me. I turn and see Effie giving me a stern look. "We're four minutes behind schedule. Do try not to make it a habit, hmmm?"

"Sorry, Effie," I say contritely.

"Remember what we spoke about earlier," Effie says. "Go find your room and lay down for a bit. I'll make sure that you're up in plenty of time."

"One hour, Effie," I say. "I don't want to miss the sights."

"One hour," Effie agrees with a smile. "Now go!"

I find my room with no problem. It only takes me a couple of minutes to store my personal belongings...namely, Evie's small backpack containing the spile, knife, and pearl. I'm still not sure why I brought it...the pearl especially.

Wishful thinking...or perhaps something else?

No matter. I place the bag of cookies carefully on the dresser before I kick off my shoes and stretch out on the bed. Within minutes, the gentle rocking of the train has lulled me into a deep sleep.

* * *

"You ever notice that he's  _always_  sleeping when we visit him?"

My eyes snap open. Gamma is sitting at the end of my bed, idly flipping through my sketchpad. A rustling noise off to one side turns out to be Gale sniffing at the bag of cookies that my father had given me.

I groan. "Why are you two here now?" I moan.

Gale carefully puts the bag back on the dresser. "Damn, those smell good. If I were alive I'd be hungry right now." He turns and looks at me balefully. "I give you one job... _one_...and you fuck it up." He shakes his head in disgust.

I frown, trying frantically to clear the cobwebs of sleep from my brain. "What -"

"Shit," Gale sighs. "You  _forgot_? Didn't I ask you to watch out for her? Didn't I ask you to take care of her? I have a news flash for you...ignoring her  _ain't_ takin' care of her!"

"Not all his fault, Gale," Gamma chimes in. "Snow did tell him to stay away from her."

"Psssh," Gale waves his hand dismissively. "Whatever happened to 'I've loved her since I was five?' Hmmm?"

"That hasn't changed," I reply sullenly.

"Oh?" Gale says sarcastically. "And you show it by treating her like shit?"

"That's not fair!" I snap. "How can you expect me to...to..." I struggle to find the right words.

"Love her when she doesn't love you back?" Gamma asks gently.

"Yeah," I say miserably.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Gamma!" Gale barks. "Stop with the mollycoddling!" Gale turns to me. "Mellark, do you  _really_ believe that line of bullshit that Haymitch Abernathy fed you?"

"You mean about Katniss?" I ask.

"No, dumb ass, about Madge Undersee," Gale replies, the sarcasm thick in his voice. "Of  _course_  I mean about Katniss!"

"It's not bullshit," I say bitterly. "Katniss doesn't love me. She never did and she never will."

"Shit," Gale says disgustedly. "Do you  _really_  expect her to just 'fall' in love with you? Mellark, you've loved her for what...eleven, twelve years? She barely even  _knows_  you! When she and I started hunting together it took her the better part of a  _year_  before she would stop arguing about how we split our kills...and we saw each other  _every day_. Look...you and her, you were  _becoming_  something. Before all this bullshit with the Games and Snow interfering in both your lives! Something was happening that she almost never lets happen. Do you know what that is?"

I shake my head dejectedly. "What?"

"You were becoming her  _friend_. Mellark, before all this shit happened she had exactly  _two_ friends in the whole world. Two! Me and Madge Undersee. Let me tell you somethin'." Gale pauses and digs a hand into the bag of cookies, pulling one out of the bag. He sniffs at it appreciatively before dropping it back into the bag.

"Tell me what?" I ask impatiently.

"What? Oh, yeah. Where was I?" Gale tosses the bag of cookies onto the bed. "Remember how pissed off she was at the Reaping when you volunteered?"

"Yeah," I reply softly.

"Do you think she'd have been pissed if she didn't care about you?" Gale asks.

"Haymitch said it best," I reply, bitterness in my voice. "' _Carin'_  ain't the same as  _lovin'_."

"Maybe not," Gale says quietly. "But it's a damn good start."

"I don't believe this," Gamma chimes in. "Townie, what happened to you? Where's the never-give-up fighter that I saw in the arena? 'Cause you sure as fuck ain't that guy!"

"It's a different game now," I say flatly. "In this game, if I lose, I live...but my family dies."

"Look," Gale continues, "it ain't too late. Katniss needs you, Mellark. She needs a friend...one that understands what she's gone through. And, whether she realizes it or not, she needs more than a friend. And that's you."

"What if it's too late?" I ask plaintively. "What if she doesn't want my...friendship?"

"She does," Gale says confidently. "You just may have to make her realize it, that's all."

"We gotta go," Gamma says. "Remember what Gale said, Townie."

* * *

A soft knocking on my door rouses me from my sleep. I sit up, confused at first as to where I am, and then I remember. I'm on the Victory Tour train, headed for District Eleven. And I just finished talking with Gale and Gamma once again.

Or did I? The bag of cookies is still sitting on my dresser, right where I left it. The last I remember Gale had tossed in onto my bed. I shake my head in confusion. Was it real...did they really visit me? Or did I dream the whole thing?

There's another soft knock on the door. "Peeta?" I freeze at the sound of the voice.

It's Katniss.

"Peeta. Come on. Open the door." Katniss rattles the door handle. "Look, it's gonna be a long trip and you can't avoid me forever. Open up!"

Shit. "Just a minute," I call out hoarsely. Wearily I swing my legs out from the bed and stand up, then slowly make my way to the door. I hesitate for just a moment before turning the lock and pushing down on the handle.

I step back as the door swings open. Katniss is standing in the hallway, an annoyed look on her face. As she crosses the threshold into my room, she says clearly, "For the record, I came to see Peeta, not the other way around."

I glance sharply at her in alarm. "I don't think you should be -"

"What?" Katniss says irritably. "Talking about it? I doubt if President Snow hasn't known all along that you told me." She glances around my room, her eyes resting briefly on my duffle bag and the paper bag of Poppa's cookies.

"You pack light," she remarks as she picks up the paper bag. "May I?" She asks.

I nod. "Go ahead."

Katniss digs into the bag and removes a cookie, biting into it and closing her eyes as she chews slowly. "Mmmm. Your father makes the best cookies."

"He always has," I mutter. "So, you wanted something? Or did Effie ask you to wake me up?"

"Effie doesn't know I'm here," Katniss replies. She chews her bottom lip thoughtfully. "I...I just thought we should talk."

I pull out a chair from the small desk and gesture for her to sit as I settle onto the bed. "I'm listening."

Katniss sits and she looks down at her hands for a moment as they nervously fidget. "It's like this," she finally says quietly. "Back home, we could avoid each other easily...even with both of us living in the Village. We can't here."

"No," I agree, nodding slowly. "No, we can't."

"Everywhere we go people will want to take our pictures together," she continues. "You, me, and Haymitch. And they'll pick up on it if we act like we hate each other."

_Do you, Katniss? How do you_ really  _feel? I can't see past that inscrutable mask that you always wear!_

"I agree. They'll see right through us. Especially skilled correspondents like Cressida," I say.

Katniss nods. "She already has. She was asking a little bit ago what was going on between you and I."

"Do you think she'll say something?" I ask.

"Cressida? No." Katniss finally allows herself the luxury of a single, small smile. "She likes us."

"But others would."

"Yeah. Yeah, they would."

"Like Bacchus Brandywine," I say, watching Katniss carefully for a reaction.

"Yes," she practically spits, her eyes narrowing into slits, "like  _him._ "

It's true, then. Brandywine  _was_  one of them. One of Katniss's "clients." And someday, I'll make him pay. Personally.

"Look," Katniss continues, her voice calm and steady once again, "President Snow wants a good show on the Victory Tour. He can't possibly object to us spending time together and at least looking like we are friends."

"I guess not," I reply softly.

"I know you're worried about your family," Katniss says. "Just like I am about mine. But we'll get through this. Okay?"

I nod. "Okay."

Katniss stands up. "You better make an appearance before Effie sends in someone to wake you for real."

"I will." Katniss turns to go. "Katniss?" I say.

Katniss stops, her hand on the door handle. "Yes?"

I somehow manage a smile. "Thanks."

Katniss shrugs and offers her own small smile. "No problem."

And, as I watch her go, I realize that there is a problem. A big problem.

Because no matter what Haymitch says, and in spite of everything that's happened, I still love Katniss Everdeen.

**PART VI**

"We honor them," I'm saying, trying not to be too obvious as I read off the card Effie gave me. "Their courage, their selflessness, their willingness to sacrifice all for the good of a greater, stronger Panem. Thank you, District Eleven. Thank you for such stalwart Tributes. Thank you for your hospitality. And thank you for your tireless efforts to make Panem the greatest country on the face of the Earth."

_What utter bullshit_ , I say to myself.  _"Greatest country on the face of the Earth?" It's the_ only _country on the face of the Earth._  The assembled crowd applauds politely as I'm escorted off the stage and back into the Justice Building.

"That was  _perfect_!" Effie gushes. "Peeta, you really are a natural at public speaking! They  _loved_  you!"

"Yes," Katniss ads dryly. "The way you read the words on that card...absolutely brilliant!" I glance over at her and see that she's smiling. I return her smile. It's the most genuine contact that we've had this entire trip.

"Well," Effie huffs, "at least Peeta didn't almost incite a riot this year!" I remember what Haymitch had told me one night, early in my training...about how Katniss's remarks during her stop in District Eleven had, ultimately, led to the Peacekeepers executing an old man on the spot.

" _How_  many times are you gonna keep beating that dead horse?" Katniss asks in annoyance. "And all I did was speak from the heart! I didn't  _incite_ anything!"

"Still," Effie says, patting my arm, "Excellent job, especially for a first time! Don't you agree, Haymitch?"

"Oh, yes," Haymitch says, mimicking Effie's clipped, almost artificial accent. "Marvelous job, kid. Simply stunning!" Haymitch lifts his flask up towards me in salute.

I glance at Haymitch and shake my head in mock disgust. "When do we visit District Nine?" I ask, turning back to Effie.

"Three more stops," Effie says after a moments' consultation of her ever-present scheduler. "Why?"

"I'm letting you know now, so you have plenty of time," I reply, handing the cue cards back to Effie. "But my speech in Nine had better include references to both Husker and Evie by name, along with my honoring them in particular, or I  _will_  go off the script!"

"Peeta," Effie says reasonably, "I understand that Husker and Evie were your Allies, but it's not the best of ideas to call attention to  _any_  Tribute by name during a Victory Tour. It is, after all,  _your_ time to shine!"

"Which I would be unable to do if not for Husker and Evie." I reply angrily. "They were more than just Allies, Effie. They were my  _friends_."

"Effie has a point, kid," Haymitch says. "Look, I understand how close you were to your Allies. But if you go on and on about how wonderful Husker 'n Evie were, you'll just get that crowd in Nine all stirred up, worse'n knockin' down a tracker jacker nest."

"Haymitch, are you actually  _agreeing_  with me?" Effie asks incredulously.

"Princess, even a broken clock is right twice a day," Haymitch replies with a smirk. "Seriously, kid. Honor them. Thank them. But it's  _your_  Victory Tour, not  _theirs._ "

"Listen to Haymitch and Effie, Peeta," Katniss says. "Look, I understand. You've got a few days. Why don't you sit down with Effie and write your script for Nine together?"

"That's the best idea you've had this trip, Sweetheart," Haymitch says. "I didn't know you had it in you."

_Neither did I_ , I say to myself, trying to keep my surprise off my face. I turn to Effie. "How about it? We write the cards for Nine together?"

Effie glances at Haymitch and Katniss before turning back to me. "Oh, why not? What the hell...Peeta, I'll do it." She glances at her scheduler quickly before looking back at me. "Tonight, after the reception, once we return to the train?"

"Fine," I agree.

"Good," Effie says. "Now...we only have a short time before the Mayor's Reception here. I've arranged for Portia and Cinna, along with Peeta's Prep Team, to bring along our evening wear so we can all change here and still make it in plenty of time." She quickly consults her scheduler. "Damn...we're  _three_  minutes  _behind_  schedule again, and -"

"Effie," Haymitch says quietly.

Effie's head snaps up at the sound of her name. " _What_ , Haymitch?" She snaps.

Haymitch waggles a finger at her in admonition. "That's twice.  _Language_ , Effie."

That was the best laugh that I've had in a long time.

* * *

"Today," I say, addressing the crowd assembled outside the District Nine Justice Building, "I've spoken of concepts such as courage, sacrifice, and honor. I would like to add one more concept.  _Allies_. It's well known that Husker Brown and Evie Applewhite were Allies to my district partner and myself. When I think of the word 'courage,' I think of Husker selflessly protecting my district partner, Gamma, during the second Feast. When I think of the word 'sacrifice,' I think of Evie giving me enough time to escape certain death." I pause for a moment. "I would not be here today if not for them. So, when I think of the word 'honor,' it is to honor the memories of Husker and Evie, and to never, ever, forget." I bring the three middle fingers of my left hand to my mouth, kiss my fingers, and extend my arm out to my front.

Amazingly, each person in the crowd mimics my gesture, until the thousands that are assembled here are all returning my salute. To my front I see the line of Peacekeepers shift uneasily, as if expecting trouble. But the crowd remains silent.

I lower my arm. "Thank you, Husker and Evie. And thank you, District Nine, for your hospitality." I take a final deep breath before continuing. "Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever."

The applause begins as I turn away to walk off the stage and into the District Nine Justice Building. It swells as the doors close behind me. And it continues for two thunderous minutes before finally dying away.

"That was  _perfect_!" Effie gushes.

"I feel awful," I mutter. I look up at the faces surrounding me...Effie, Haymitch, Katniss and Cressida. "Did you see how they were looking at me? The families of Husker and Evie?"

"You didn't expect 'em to be  _happy_  to see you, did you, kid?" Haymitch asks as he uncorks his flask and takes a deep drink.

"I don't know," I reply miserably. "I mean, they knew that we were Allies -"

"Which means shit in the real world," Haymitch says firmly. "Look. The crowd here loved you. Forget about the families. Come on; let's get back to the train. For a change we have plenty of time before the dog and pony show tonight."

Our escort arrives to take us back to the train. As we leave the Justice Building, Cressida falls in beside me. "For what it's worth, Peeta, I understand how you feel. And I know that you won't forget."

"Thanks, Cressida," I murmur. In response she gives my arm an affectionate squeeze and smiles up at me.

"Anytime," she replies.

When we pile into the cars waiting to return us to our train, I'm disappointed that Cressida chooses to ride with her crew. I find myself riding with Haymitch and Katniss. I doubt if we speak a dozen words on the ride back to the train...although I catch Katniss looking at me rather strangely a couple of times. She looks away quickly when I catch her.

I wonder what those looks were for.

* * *

The Tour continues.

District Eight had been our second stop. There, I appeared in front of an indifferent audience in a part of their main city where one of the laws must have been that every building be painted the same uniform shade of gray. The one bright spot was meeting a lively district official named Paylor...a surprising woman that apparently commanded a lot of respect in District Eight, even from the Capitol Liaison and the Peacekeeper detachment there.

Our third stop had been in District Six. The crowd that listened to me speak there was probably the quietest during the entire tour. Haymitch tells me that District Six has a huge morphling addiction problem. I was more than happy to leave.

From Six we proceeded to Nine...our fourth stop and the only one that had any sort of personal meaning for me up to that point. After Nine we proceeded to Five, crossing the Great River in the process...a sight that I doubt I will ever get tired of. After Five we stopped in District Ten, with its vast cattle ranches...and where I see people actually riding horses for the first time in my life.

District Four was next, and was easily the most memorable district that I visited on my Tour for two reasons...the beach and Finnick Odair. Haymitch has explained to me that I probably wouldn't see any of my fellow Victors on my Tour...as he put it, the Capitol didn't want anyone to "Steal my thunder," and distract from the reason for the Tour...to showcase their newest Victor. But, as I discover, Finnick Odair is the universal exception to just about every rule that's ever existed regarding Victors.

Of course, I had met several Victors during my hospital stay following my Victory...Chaff and Seeder from Eleven, Johanna Mason from Seven, Cyrus Gray and Silky Black from District Nine, among others...but Finnick was not among them. And, to be honest, I wasn't sure how I was going to "take" him.

Of course, I had long ago put two and two together and realized that Finnick was in the same predicament that Katniss is in now...but, unlike Katniss, who has never actively sought to be the center of attention, Finnick seems to thrive on it, actively encouraging his "playboy" image.

Reality couldn't have been farther from the truth.

Certainly, Finnick is outgoing and confident to the point of cockiness, but I noticed two things about him right away. The first is the tenderness he shows toward Katniss. The second is the respect that he shows Haymitch.

As for me, he seems to have accepted me immediately as an equal. The "Brotherhood of Victors," as he calls it, prompting a reminder from Katniss that many of the Victors are female. Of course, that didn't bother Finnick in the least. He asked about my leg and told me that he would be more than happy to help me out during my first games as a Mentor. Haymitch, of course, made it a point to tell me not to trust him, which, being as he told me this in Finnick's presence, meant that I could trust Finnick implicitly.

I was sorry to be leaving Four so quickly. Finnick had been a pleasant surprise...but so had my warm reception there...considering that I had personally killed both of their Tributes.

From Four, the next stop was Two. The reception that I received there was chilly, to say the least. But it was also one of the more surprising districts that I visited, in that I actually received a congratulatory note from the legendary Enobaria herself, welcoming me to the ranks of the Victors and congratulating me on my winning the Third Quarter Quell. I was so shocked I show the note to Haymitch.

"Eno always did have class," Haymitch had grunted. "Unlike Brutus. He's still probably sulking somewhere about his Tribute getting killed by a District Nine farm boy."

After Two, it was on to District One. This was probably the hardest district, outside of Nine, for me to visit. Aurora had been a favorite here, and her death by my hand had been messy and brutal...so I was surprised at my warm reception. Their mayor explained, that night during the Reception, that I had shown Aurora respect and compassion while she died, and that the people here appreciated that.

The next two stops in Districts Three and Seven were both uneventful and uninspiring. The Tour was a tiring and emotionally draining experience. Only one more stop...the Capitol...remains before returning home and one final celebration before my life returns to normal.

And I can begin to pretend once again that Katniss Everdeen doesn't exist.

**PART VII**

"Can we get just one more picture? Please?"

I grin good-naturedly as two Capitol girls press up to me from either side. I slide an arm around each waist as both girls lean in closely. Both girls couldn't be much older than sixteen or seventeen, yet they were both already sporting the inevitable piercings and tattoos that the wealthier Capitolites wear as badges of their money and influence.

_What a shame_ , I say to myself.  _I can tell that they are both pretty girls without all the tattoos, piercings, and makeup._

An older man...their father, I assume...raises a camera and takes not one, but several more shots of me with the two girls. The girls giggle excitedly and thank me profusely before they walk away, proudly displaying to a group of their friends where I autographed various rather intimate parts of their anatomy...specifically, the curve of one's breast and the amazingly firm ass cheek of another...both girls announcing loudly their intentions of getting my autograph permanently tattooed first thing the next morning.

"The price of fame. And I hope that poor girl realizes that she will be unable to sit for the rest of the evening if she really wants to get your name tattooed on her ass," a voice murmurs from behind me. I turn and see a man, roughly Haymitch's age, with a florid face and sandy hair standing directly behind me.

The man raises his glass. "Get used to it," he continues. "It may fade over time, but it'll always be there." The man extends a hand out to me. "Forgive me, Mr. Mellark. Assistant Head Gamemaker Plutarch Heavensbee."

I grip his hand, pleasantly surprised to find his own grip to be strong. "It's an honor, sir."

"No, it's not," Heavensbee says with a laugh. "Gamemakers are the enemy...or haven't you figured that out yet?"

I say nothing, unsure how to respond to Heavensbee's comment. Heavensbee must have seen the expression on my face, as he winks and claps me on the shoulder, leading me towards a table laden with all manner of glassware.

"Good man. When you don't know what to say, you say nothing." He hands me a glass. "Champagne?"

I take the glass and sip carefully, coughing a bit as the bubbles tickle my nose. "It's not bad," I admit.

"An acquired taste, to be sure," Heavensbee says. "How are you enjoying your reception so far?"

"Truthfully, I'm overwhelmed." I set the glass on a tray proffered by a passing servant. Idly I wonder if the man was an Avox.

"I noticed that," Heavensbee says dryly. "I felt you were in need of rescue. So here I am."

"People here must respect you a great deal," I comment, noticing that the other guests were giving us a wide berth.

"Not respect," Heavensbee corrects. "Fear. Even Capitol citizens fear Gamemakers...especially those of us in the upper echelons."

"I don't fear you," I find myself blurting out.

Heavensbee smiles. "Good. Neither does your Mentor. Of course, Haymitch and I do go back a long ways." Heavensbee scans the crowd, and then points over to the two girls that I had just posed for pictures with. "Take those two, for example. Their father is an upper-level bureaucrat with the Ministry of District Affairs. This is probably the first time he's ever been invited to a Victor's Reception." Heavensbee smiles at me. "Do you want them? All it would take from you is a glance and a crooked finger...and in fifteen minutes you could be in an upstairs bedroom with both of those girls eagerly willing to do whatever you wanted."

"It's that easy?" I ask incredulously.

"It's that easy," Heavensbee nods.

"Wouldn't I be missed?"

"Mr. Mellark," Heavensbee says condescendingly, "believe me. You would hardly be the first Victor to suddenly disappear midway through your Victor's Reception." I notice then that he's looking pointedly at Katniss, who's engaged in conversation with a group of young, handsome men. I feel a moment's flash of jealousy, immediately followed by a sinking feeling in my stomach.

_Heavensbee is trying to tell me what happened to Katniss last year...but why?_

"Mr. Mellark," Heavensbee continues, "the job of a Head Gamemaker, such as Seneca Crane, is to deal with the politicians and be the 'face' of the Hunger Games...they take the praise when a Games is particularly successful, and the blame when a Games is considered a failure." Heavensbee pauses to sip at his drink. "The job of Assistant Head Gamemaker is quite different. I'm like an orchestra conductor. I keep everything flowing smoothly. Come with me."

It was not a request. I follow Heavensbee dutifully as he strides purposefully towards Katniss.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Heavensbee says with a smile, "and Miss Everdeen. It's always a pleasure to see you."

"Plutarch," Katniss murmurs, nodding her head slightly as Heavensbee takes her hand in his and brushes his lips across the back of her hand. I notice that Katniss's admirers are quickly fading into the crowd.  _It's true. People_ do _fear him. But not Katniss._

"I was just thinking," Heavensbee says, "that people here may want to see the Victors of the previous two Games share a dance." Katniss glares silently at Heavensbee as I feel the back of my neck flush. Shit. Dance?

"Of course, Plutarch," Katniss says smoothly, reaching out and taking my hand. I follow awkwardly as Katniss leads me out on to the dance floor just as the orchestra finishes playing.

Katniss and I stand on the dance floor, waiting for the orchestra to begin playing again. As the music starts, Katniss takes my left hand in her right and puts her left hand lightly on my right shoulder. I place my right hand gently on her waist. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. I can't remember the last time I was this close to her...if at all.

"It's a waltz," she explains as other couples begin to twirl around us. "Listen to the music. One, two, three. One, two, three. Got it?"

I shake my head. "No."

Katniss sighs. "Never mind. Just follow my lead." Awkwardly we begin to dance. Within a few seconds I'm able, for the most part, to follow the simple sequence of steps. But, I notice that, unlike the other couples on the floor that are dancing closely together, there's enough space between us to drive a train through.

"Shouldn't we be closer together?" I ask.

"We're fine," she replies curtly.

I feel a flush of anger. "Whatever happened to pretending to be friends?"

"I'm dancing with you, aren't I?" Katniss snaps.

"You would be more convincing without that scowl on your face!" I snap back.

Katniss's face softens. "Shit," she murmurs. "I'm no good at this. Pretending, I mean. Not like you."

I really wish this song would end. "Maybe that's because I'm not pretending." I force a smile on my face, acutely aware of cameras pointing at us.

The dig isn't lost on Katniss. "Peeta, I'm so -"

"Don't say it," I mutter. "Don't say you're sorry. If you really were sorry, you wouldn't do this shit to me all the time."

The dance ends. I immediately release her and applaud politely, as does Katniss. I glance at her face, expecting to see anger. What I see instead, behind her forced smile, is anguish.

_Maybe I overdid it. Shit. This evening is becoming a nightmare._

"Miss Everdeen?" A white-jacketed servant stands near Katniss's side, holding out a silver tray with a small envelope placed carefully in the middle.

Katniss reaches out and takes the envelope off the tray, murmuring "Thank you" as she tears it open with trembling fingers. I fight to keep my expression neutral. I know what the significance of that envelope is.

"I have to go," Katniss says quietly, averting her eyes from mine.

"Yeah," I say tightly. Katniss glances up at me. I know she can see the pain in my eyes...because I can plainly see it in hers.

She opens her mouth as if to say something, and then turns on her heel and strides away quickly. Damn Heavensbee and his fucking photo op! The last thing I needed to see right now was for Katniss to be called away on "Games Business."

I turn and head purposefully toward one of the beverage tables. I snatch up a glass filled with some sort of dark amber liquid and toss it down in a single gulp, coughing slightly at the burn down my throat. I slam the glass down on the table and quickly grab another.

"That won't help, Peeta." I turn to face the owner of the soft voice that just spoke from behind me.

"It can't hurt," I reply as I toss down the second glass. Soft fingers reach out and gently pry the glass from my hands, setting it down gently on the table.

Cressida looks at me with gentle eyes. "Yes, it can. Come on, now. No more. Okay?"

I feel the anger, the hurt, and the jealousy drain out of me as my shoulders slump forward. "Fine," I reply listlessly.

Cressida takes my hand. "Come on," she says, leading me onto the dance floor. "I want a dance with the Victor."

I'm too drained to resist. Once on the floor Cressida turns and presses herself close to me, her arms winding around my neck. Awkwardly, I slip my own arms around her waist as we begin to sway to the music.

Cressida puts her lips to my ear as we dance. "I know dancing is the farthest thing from your mind right now, but this is the only way I could think to be able to talk to you without unwanted ears listening."

"I understand," I murmur in reply. I'm becoming more and more acutely aware of Cressida's body pressed up against mine. It doesn't help that her evening wear is a sleeveless black sheath that is so tight it looks like it was painted on.

"I just felt that I had to do something before you did," Cressida continues. "I know how hard this tour has been for you. Just remember, it's almost over. Two nights from now you will be sleeping in your own bed."

"Not soon enough for me," I mutter. Shit. I can feel my organ stiffening in response to Cressida's body pressed against me. I try to adjust, moving my hips away from hers, but she follows my every move.  _This isn't part of the dance, Cressida!_

"Look," Cressida continues, "I know things between you and Katniss are...well, awkward. Just keep in mind that things haven't been easy for - oh!"

Fuck. One of Cressida's thighs just brushed directly over the bulge in my pants. I can feel my flush returning, spreading over my neck and cheeks as I murmur, "Sorry."

Cressida pulls her head off my shoulder and looks me in the eye. "It happens, Peeta," she assures me with a gentle smile. "Don't worry about it."

But for the rest of the dance I made sure to keep plenty of room between us.

* * *

I awaken with a strangled scream, sitting bolt upright in my bed, my heart pounding, gasping for breath. Oh, shit. That was a bad one. I hardly ever wake up screaming.

I jump at the sound of a soft knock on my door. "Peeta?"

Dammit. It's Cressida. She must have heard me. "I'm okay," I gasp.

Another knock, followed by the sound of the door handle shaking. "No, you're not. Let me in."

I sigh and slide out of bed, glancing at the soft glow of the clock as I do. Just past one. I've been asleep less than an hour. Outside, the lights on the train platform illuminate large, fat snowflakes as they fall and gather on my window.

I pad to the door and throw the lock, turning away and walking back to my bed even as I hear the door open, then close behind me. Belatedly I glance down, breathing a sigh of relief as I do so. I did remember to leave shorts on when I went to bed.

I sink back onto the bed and turn to face Cressida. She's wearing a long, sleeveless nightdress that clings to her body. I realize with shock that, in the faint light trickling in from my window, it appears to be a reddish-orange color. My favorite.

I pull the blanket up to my waist as Cressida carefully sits on the edge of the bed. "I heard you screaming."

"Sorry," I say softly. "I hope I didn't wake you."

Cressida shakes her head, her thick blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders. I can just make out the intricate tattoo on the side of her head that's shaved tracing down her throat and disappearing under her nightdress. Absently Cressida reaches up, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

"No," she replies. "I was still awake." She gazes at me softly. "You were having a nightmare?"

I nod. "Yeah. I get them almost every night." I smile ruefully. "I hardly ever scream, though."

Cressida reaches out, brushing her fingers gently over my cheek. "You were crying, too," she says, holding up her damp fingers.

"Was I?" I feel my own cheeks. They're wet. "I guess I was."

Cressida looks at me, her own eyes shining with unshed tears, her face a mask of compassion. "You poor, poor boy," she whispers. She gives me a small smile. "I'm not a very good journalist when it comes to you and Katniss."

"Why?" I ask, my voice almost a whisper.

"Because a journalist is supposed to remain detached," she explains. "And not get involved with their subjects. And I broke that rule with the both of you." Cressida pauses for a moment. "Especially with you," she whispers.

"Cressida -"

"Don't get the wrong idea, Peeta," she continues quickly. "I don't love you. But I've had to watch how horribly mistreated you were...the accusations, the shunning, the floggings...and somewhere along the way you stopped being an interesting story and became a person that I had grown to care about. Katniss, too. And I should have asked to be relieved from covering you both months ago...but I couldn't."

"Katniss," I whisper bitterly. "Do you want to know the worst thing about living in Victors' Village?"

"What?" She asks gently.

"The loneliness," I reply thickly. "Everyone treats you differently. Your family, your friends...everyone. And I thought that...if I could just win the Games...maybe then she would see me as someone worthy of..."

"Oh, Peeta," Cressida breathes. "You did all this...for Katniss?"

"Mostly for her," I admit miserably. "There was...other stuff, too. But, deep down inside, it was mostly for her." I look up at Cressida, who's shifted around on the bed and is now facing me directly. "Stupid, huh? All  _this_  -" I wave my hand around the room "- for a girl that doesn't love me, has never loved me, and never will love me."

"Why do you say that?" Cressida asks.

"Because it's true," I reply in a choked voice.

"Oh, Peeta," she says gently. "Peeta, honey. You are so wrong about that. I don't know exactly how she feels...but Katniss  _feels_  for  _you_...maybe more than she really knows or understands."

"Sure she does," I mutter.

"She does," Cressida says firmly. "Katniss doesn't know how to deal with it. She doesn't know how to show it. But she does."

I look up at Cressida, her face hovering over mine. "You're sure?" I ask dubiously.

She nods, smiling. "Yes. Very sure."

"If you say so," I say doubtfully.

"I do," Cressida says firmly. "Now you should try to get some sleep." She leans forward to kiss my cheek...at least, that's what I think she had in mind. I'll never know. Because I chose that very moment to turn my head slightly...to thank her, maybe. I don't know. What I do know is that her lips ended up pressed very firmly, and very warmly, squarely against mine.

I feel her stiffen in surprise as our lips meet. For a single, brief moment, as I stare, wide-eyed, into Cressida's eyes, I think that she will stop...that she will pull away. But she doesn't. Instead, I see her eyes flutter closed and hear a soft breathy moan escape those lips that are pressed so intimately against mine, followed by the hot, moist fire of her tongue trace the outline of my lips before plunging wetly into my mouth.

It's my turn to groan as Cressida's tongue swirls sensuously around mine, as my eyes close and my arms wrap around her back, pulling her down on top of me. I kick the blanket off of me as Cressida eagerly presses her firm, warm body against mine, and it's very apparent that she's wearing nothing at all under her nightdress.

My organ is once again fully erect, tenting out from my shorts as Cressida grinds herself against me, her tongue frantically engaging my own. My hands slide down her back as I cup the twin mounds of her buttocks with trembling fingers, squeezing and kneading the firm flesh.

Cressida breaks our kiss and pushes herself up with her arms, looking down into my face, her hair hanging loose, her lips wet and shining from our passionate kiss. "Oh, Peeta," she whispers as I feel her thighs open, then close on my pulsing shaft. "Oh, baby," she groans as she slowly rotates her hips. Suddenly she sits straight up, rocking her hips back and forth as she grabs the hem of her nightdress, and, with a single smooth motion, pulls it up and off over her head.

Cressida's body gleams in the dim light filtering in from outside the train...her firm breasts rising high on her chest, each globe topped with a pink, distended nipple. I reach up to cup both breasts in my hands, reveling in the feel as I hear Cressida groan once more.

I release one breast to trace the intricate tattoo from the side of her head, down the curve of her throat, and further down her side to her flat, smooth belly, to finally end just above the juncture of her thighs...which, I now notice, is shaved smooth.

Cressida jerks slightly as my fingers trace over her belly and she actually giggles...and for a brief instant I think that this amazing connection has been broken as she drops down on top of me, her breasts pressing intimately against my bare chest. "Sorry," she pants. "I've always been so ticklish!"

"We...we should stop," I gasp, even as I feel her work her hand down between our bodies, her fingers searching for, and then finding, my swollen shaft. I groan as I feel her fingers caress me gently through my shorts.

"Yes," Cressida groans. "Yes, we should stop," even as she begins to kiss her way down my neck and across my chest, her lips nibbling, her tongue licking as her head travels lower, lower, ever lower. I feel her hands tugging at my shorts and, almost involuntarily, I arch my back upwards, feeling her urgent hands push my shorts down my legs as I frantically kick them off.

Her hands return immediately to my groin, one hand grasping my throbbing organ firmly, her fingers teasing up and down the shaft, as the other combs through my curly, dark blonde pubic hair, even as her lips continue to tease and caress my belly.

I gasp again as the realization of what she's about to do hits me.  _Oh, Snow! She's not really gonna do_ that _! She's really not -_

I groan again as I feel first the head, then the length of my manhood engulfed in a warm, damp cavern. I open my eyes to see the back of her head bobbing slowly up and down, listening to her own moans as she draws me ever deeper into her eager mouth. I slide one hand down her back and across her smooth buttocks as her mouth continues to work, caressing her upper thighs before sliding my fingers between her legs, feeling her wetness cover my fingers instantly as I gently probe.

I feel a familiar tightening in my groin and I push my hips back, withdrawing from her mouth as I rise up on my elbows. Cressida turns and looks up at me, a small frown on her face.

"I...I was close to...you know," I stammer.

Cressida gives me a gentle smile. "Coming?" I nod, feeling another flush of embarrassment, as she so easily says what I couldn't seem to get past my lips.

She gives my shaft a gentle squeeze. "That wouldn't have been the worst thing, you know...but you're sweet to stop me before you did."

"I didn't want to," I whisper. "But I'm not ready for it to end, either."

Cressida rolls off of me and slides back up the bed, kissing my body all the way until her mouth closes over mine. This time, it's my tongue that slides immediately into her mouth. Wordlessly she rolls over onto her back as I mimic her earlier motions, kissing down her throat and across her chest, sucking each erect nipple into my mouth in turn.

Cressida's soft moans and sighs tell me that I'm doing something right, so I continue down her body...kissing, licking, and sucking as I go. The scent of her essence grows stronger the lower I go...past her belly button and down past the end of her tattoo. I feel her thighs drift apart and I look up at her once more, my face hovering over her moist, parted lips.

"Do it," she whispers. "Don't stop."

Gently, I part her lips even more and take a quick, tentative taste. Her loud groan and the sudden rush of wetness on my lips tells me that I did something right. I continue to lick and suck, pausing every now and then to trace my tongue over her inner thighs, feeling her hips buck against my face and hearing her moans come louder and faster...until she suddenly clamps her legs tightly against my head, pushing her hips up to meet my face as a final sighing moan escapes her lips.

Her body falls limply back onto the bed and I gently kiss and lick my way up past her belly button, stopping at each breast before I find myself looking into her eyes. She grabs my head and pulls my lips down to hers, kissing me deeply as my hard shaft brushes against her thighs and belly. I feel her work a hand down between us, gripping my manhood firmly and guiding it against her.

Cressida breaks our kiss to look up into my eyes. "Now," she whispers. "Do it." I slowly lower my hips, groaning as her hot, wet tightness closes around me. I'm dimly aware of her knees rising up on either side of my hips as I sink deeply into her. Her hands reach down and grasp my buttocks as I begin to thrust in and out. We're both moaning and gasping loudly as I clumsily raise up on my elbows, my thrusts becoming faster and more urgent.

I feel her legs rise up on either side, and then wrap firmly around my back. I'm holding myself completely off of her now as she matches each thrust with one of her own. It's over all to soon. I barely have time to grunt "It's...I can't...oh,  _Snow_!" And my world explodes in a seemingly endless pulsing eruption.

I collapse on top of Cressida, feeling her hot breath gasping against my ear as the pulsing in my groin slows, and then finally stops. We're hot, sticky and perspiring heavily, and the musky smell of our passion hangs heavily in the air. I feel my organ, just a few moments ago a rock-hard piston, shrink and soften to the point that it finally slips out of Cressida's body. I rise up on my elbows and look down at her face.

Cressida smiles up at me. "Hey," she whispers.

"Hey," I say as I return her smile. She pushes gently at my chest and I reluctantly roll off of her. We lay like that for several minutes.

"How do you feel?" She finally asks.

"This will sound crazy," I reply softly, "but I've never felt better...or worse...than I do right now."

"It's not crazy, Peeta," she says gently. "I understand perfectly. It's about Katniss, right?"

"Yeah," I reply miserably. "It's about Katniss."

"Would it make you feel any better if I told you that this will never happen again between us?" I turn my head and look at her, seeing her stare solemnly back at me.

"Was I that bad?" I murmur.

Cressida laughs gently. "I've had worse," she admits, kissing me tenderly. "And I won't lie...I've had better. But I've never had a man that meant more to me than you."

"'A man,'" I repeat. "Is that what I am?"

She chuckles softly. "Well, you certainly proved that you aren't a boy...even though this was your first time."

"Thanks," I say, frowning just a bit. "I think."

Cressida rises up on one elbow and looks at me intently. "Peeta, when I came in here tonight...I never intended for any of this to happen. I heard you screaming and thought I could help, that's all." She pauses for a moment before continuing. "If it makes you feel any better, I've also gone to Katniss when I've heard her screaming in the middle of the night, too."

I smile. "Bet  _this_  never happened with Katniss, though."

" _This_  shouldn't have happened between us, either," Cressida says seriously. She sighs heavily. "But it did, and, if it's any consolation, I feel terrible about it too."

"I guess it's weird that I feel relieved that you feel bad about this, too, huh?" I ask.

"Not weird," Cressida corrects. "Decent. Katniss doesn't realize it yet, Peeta, but she's one fucking lucky girl. You're a rarity, Peeta. You are a genuinely good man. And Katniss will see that eventually."

"Maybe," I whisper.

"Not maybe," Cressida says, swinging her legs out of the bed and scooping her nightdress off the floor. She slips it back on over her head and looks back at me. "Will you ever tell her about tonight?"

"Yes," I reply firmly. "When it's the right time."

"Good," Cressida says. "And if Katniss hates me for it...I'm okay with that. As long as I know that she's happy with you."

Another thought crosses my mind. "Cressida," I stammer. "What about...I mean, I didn't use any..."

She leans over the bed and quickly kisses my cheek. She doesn't miss this time. "Don't worry. I'm protected."

Relief washes over me. "I was worried." Cressida touches my face gently then skips away toward the door.

"Don't be," she says, her hand on the door handle. "And Peeta?"

"What?" I reply lazily.

"If you have another screaming nightmare...don't count on me coming in," she says with a smile. "Goodnight."

"'Night," I murmur as the door closes firmly behind her. Already I can feel my drowsiness returning. I close my eyes and sigh softly. I was right. I've never felt better...or worse...than I do right now.

* * *

_Katniss quietly boards the train as the car that returned her to the train station slowly makes its way down the gravel access road next to the tracks. She shivers slightly from the cold. It's well past two in the morning. Her "clients" that evening, a husband and wife combination that were highly placed officials in the Ministry of Internal Security, took turns using her while the other watched and masturbated._

_Katniss feels especially soiled tonight. Idly she wonders if Cressida is still awake. The older woman was very well versed in talking with the young Victor after a night such as this one, over a mug of hot chocolate or steaming milk with honey._

_Katniss slides the door shut behind her, gripping her high heels tightly as she silently makes her way through the train toward the sleeper car. She exits the observation car, makes her way through the dining car, and pauses at the entrance to the sleeper to adjust her coat, which she had been wearing draped across her shoulders and was now beginning to slip down._

_Katniss fixes her coat and grabs the door handle...then freezes as she hears the sound of a door opening, then closing. She melts back into the shadows as she watches Cressida, dressed only in a flimsy nightdress, her hair disheveled, her lips swollen and moist, step into the hallway, glance up and down the car briefly, and then quickly make her way up the car to her own room, pushing the door open before slipping inside, the door closing firmly behind her._

_Katniss steps into the sleeper car, her feet making no sound as she makes her way down the hallway toward the room that she just observed Cressida leaving. She can feel her heart pounding and her mouth going dry as she stops in front of that door, clearly marked with the occupants' name:_

_Peeta Mellark._

_Katniss feels her head spinning as the realization at what she just witnessed sinks home. Cressida just left Peeta's room. Peeta, who has reminded her over and over again how much he, Peeta, loves her. And there was no doubt as to what Peeta and Cressida had been doing in that room. No doubt at all._

_Peeta and Cressida had been fucking._

_Katniss raises her clenched fist as if to pound on the door...and then stops herself._ It's my own fault. I've pushed him away time and time again.  _I_  refused the pearl he tried to give to me. If he's found someone else, it's because  _I_  told him to.

_Her eyes blurred with unshed tears, Katniss stumbles to her room, slamming the door shut behind her. She barely makes it to the bathroom before she vomits violently, clutching the toilet weakly as her stomach empties itself. Wiping her mouth with the back of one shaky hand, she then crawls to the bed and finally allows herself to cry._

_It was the end of a long, miserable night._


	23. CHAPTER 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, the often promised and delayed Everlark chapter!

**CHAPTER 23**

**PART I**

_She knows._

Katniss is the last to arrive at the breakfast table, looking as though she hasn't slept a wink. I have no idea what time she got in last night. But her puffy face, mussed hair and red-rimmed eyes tell me that she did not have a restful night.

At first, I attribute it to having to deal with another one of her 'clients' the night before... _damn Snow to hell for what he's doing to her..._ when she was literally plucked from the Victor's Reception to service Snow knows who. But, after watching her for a few minutes, I realize that there's something...more...going on.

Katniss has never been good at really hiding her emotions...and the looks of sheer loathing and hatred that she's been directing at Cressida and I are all that I need to realize that  _she knows._

Thank goodness Cressida has treated me the same way this morning that she has every other morning. To be honest, I wasn't at all sure how I would deal with it if she began to give me those little coy looks that you see on trashy Capitol Holo-Romance shows. I'm relieved that wasn't the case. In fact, Cressida is acting as if it never happened.

So that's exactly how I act.

There's only one problem. It  _did_  happen. I'm reminded of it every time I walk into my room and I smell that cloying musk... _Cressida_ ' _s_  smell...that seems to hang in the air like an unspoken accusation. It happened. It happened, and I would give anything to turn back the clock and make it  _not_ happen.

I find that I've lost what little appetite that I had this morning. "Excuse me," I mutter as I drop my napkin to my plate and stand up slowly. My leg hurts today...the cold weather must be affecting my prosthetic.

Apparently, someone interprets my tentative movements in another way. "Rough night last night?" Katniss calls out sarcastically.

I don't even turn around as I limp out of the dining car into the lounge. I sink heavily into a seat, waving off the ever-present Capitol attendant, and stare morosely out at the passing, snow covered landscape.

_She knows._  I chew nervously at my thumb.  _She knows, and I have to tell her as soon as possible. When we stop for fuel later on today._

I have to tell her. Truthfully, I'd rather go back into the arena.

* * *

Fuel stop.

We're just past the Great River, near District Eleven. I doubt if I've spoken more than ten words to anyone all day long.  _Well_ , I say to myself as we pull into the fortified station,  _I'll be speaking more than ten words to Katniss. Quite possibly the last words I will ever speak to her._  The thought chills me.  _But I have to. I have to._

A voice comes over the public address system on the train, advising us of the thirty-minute stop. I keep my seat, staring out the window. If she gets off the train she will walk right under my window.

There! A familiar dark head, hair pulled back in a single, thick braid. My heart pounding, I pull myself to my feet and clump to the exit, where an attendant pulls the door open for me and advises me that the train departs in exactly twenty-six minutes.

It's easy to follow her tracks...she's the only one that's left the train. At least the weather here is warmer than the Capitol...there's no trace of snow and a light jacket is sufficient. I see Katniss walking slowly along the tracks, a few cars ahead of me. With my heart pounding in my chest, I hurry to catch up with her.

She must have heard my feet crunching in the gravel, but she doesn't turn around. What she does do is stop. "I heard a saying once," she says, her voice deceptively calm. "'Confession is good for the soul.' Are you here to confess something? Not that it'll do you any good. It only works if you have a soul to begin with."

"I won't lie," I say, my voice shaking. "You know the truth already."

Katniss spins around, her eyes blazing with anger. "No lies? But you're so  _good_  at lying! Snow knows you've lied enough to me already! What's one more?"

"No lies," I choke out. "Cressida and I...did it," I blurt. "Last night."

"Did 'it?'" Katniss repeats in a mocking tone. "What's 'it?' Played poker, counted lightning bugs...oh, sorry, wrong time of year for that...caught snowflakes in your mouth, perhaps?"

"Katniss -" I begin.

"Oh, wait," Katniss says sweetly, her flashing eyes the only hint at her simmering rage. " _I_  know. You two  _fucked_ , didn't you?"

"Katniss -" I say miserably.

"I  _knew_  it!" Katniss says triumphantly as tears begin to stream out of her eyes. "You did  _fuck_! And you know how I know? Because I  _saw_  your whore last night come out of your room. And you know what? She had that  _fresh-fucked_  look on her face! That's how I knew!"

"Katniss -" I practically whisper.

"I know that look," Katniss continues, her chest heaving as the tears flow freely. "You want to know how? Because I see it in the mirror every time I fuck whoever Snow tells me to fuck!"

I can only stand there, trembling impotently, as Katniss suddenly steps forward, brushing by me before I can move. "I don't have a choice in who I fuck, or when, or where, and they call  _me_  a whore!" she spits. "You fucking disgust me!"

I watch as she re-boards the train, waiting a full minute before I follow her. Finally, dejectedly, my head hung low, I re-board the train. And when I do I find that Katniss is just getting started.

She's standing in the observation car, jabbing her finger into the chest of the conductor. Haymitch is standing off to one side, looking distressed. The conductor...and older man from District Six...looks confused.

Katniss is talking. "- give a shit what you have to do, I want that whore off this train before it leaves here!"

"Miss Everdeen," the conductor replies nervously, "it simply isn't that easy. This is not a scheduled passenger stop, and she is, after all, a Capitol citizen."

"I don't give a flying fuck if she's President Snow's niece!" Katniss spits, her voice rising, causing Haymitch to wince...whether at the volume, or what she said, or a combination of the two, I will never know. "Either that bitch is off this train, or  _I_ am!"

Haymitch steps forward. "Sweetheart," he says calmly, "be reasonable. Cressida -"

"Is either off this train here...now...or I am!" Katniss snaps.

"It's alright," a calm voice says from one side. I glance over and see Cressida standing quietly off to the side, clutching a small overnight bag. "I've been stuck at fueling stations before. They all have transient quarters." She turns to the conductor. "You can pick me up the day after tomorrow, when you come back through."

"Well," the conductor says slowly, "this is highly irregular...but I suppose we could -"

"Then it's settled," Katniss says coldly. She turns to me. "You even have time to say goodbye to your whore."

I don't trust myself to speak. Katniss gives me one last, cold look, before spinning on her heel and heading off toward the lounge car. As she does she's forced to brush past Cressida.

"I trusted you, you  _bitch_ ," I hear her whisper. " _I trusted you_."

Cressida steps forward after the door hisses shut behind Katniss. "I'm sorry," I mutter.

"No." Cressida says firmly. "It's my fault. I should have known better. I'm so very sorry, Peeta. I was only trying to help and instead I'm afraid that I've ruined everything."

I don't know how to respond, so instead I say, "You'll be okay?"

Cressida smiles sadly. "Yes." She holds up her bag. "This is all I need for a couple of nights."

"Sunset orange is my favorite color," I blurt out.

Cressida looks at the floor. "If I had known that," she says slowly, "I would have worn something different." She glances up. "Goodbye, Peeta."

"Goodbye, Cressida," I reply, as she steps off the train. She's speaking to a station attendant and a Peacekeeper when I last see her.

I sigh heavily. Haymitch steps forward, throwing his arm around my shoulders as he leads me to a pair of chairs on the opposite side of the observation car.

He gestures for me to sit. Once he, too, is seated he leans forward and says, "Okay, kid. Now...will you kindly tell me exactly  _what the fuck is going on around here_?"

Wearily, I rub my face with my hands. "Sit back," I mutter. "It's...complicated."

**PART II**

_"Katniss," Cinna says gently as he deftly slides a pin through the shimmering fabric gathered at her back, "is there something you would like to talk about?"_

_Katniss and Cinna are standing in Katniss's bedroom, where Cinna is performing the final fitting and alterations on the dress that Katniss will be wearing that evening, to the District Twelve Mayor's Reception. It's the last official stop on Peeta Mellark's Victory Tour._

_Cinna feels Katniss tense under his hands and he knows that, somewhere, he touched on a sore spot. Ever since Cressida had mysteriously left the train during the fueling stop late the day before the tension on the train had been so thick you could cut it with a knife. Cinna, who had been pre-occupied in the garment car during the stop, only knew that something had happened between Katniss, Peeta, and Cressida, and that, for the remainder of the trip, he had scarcely seen either Katniss or Peeta, and their official appearance earlier today in the Square had been, to say the least, tense and uncomfortable._

_"No," Katniss says curtly. "No, I don't want to talk."_

_Cinna smiles slightly to himself and nods once. "Alright," he says quietly. "Hold still for a moment." Cinna deftly inserts several more pins._ This girl needs to eat something,  _he says to himself._ I bet she's lost three kilos since the President's Reception.

_"Well?" Katniss asks archly._

_"'Well,' what?" Cinna asks gently. He looks up at Katniss. "Turn around for me, please."_

_Katniss does a half turn, now facing Cinna. "Well, aren't you gonna badger me like you normally do until I talk?" She gives Cinna a challenging look._

_"Katniss, when do I ever 'badger' you about anything?" Cinna runs his hand down her left sleeve. "Hold your arm out, please."_

_Dutifully, Katniss extends her arm. "You do!" She insists. "You start poking and prodding until you get me to talk!"_

_Cinna deftly inserts another pin into the dress. "I do no such thing. If you don't want to talk, don't talk."_

_"It's Peeta," Katniss says miserably. She glares down at Cinna. "See? You did it again!"_

_Cinna shakes his head as he examines the other sleeve. "I didn't do anything, Katniss. If you don't want to talk about it, don't. Sit down for a moment." There's a rustle of fabric as Katniss sinks down on a small stool. Cinna looks her directly in the eye. "What about Peeta?" He asks softly._

_Katniss looks down at her hands twisting nervously in her lap. Wordlessly, Cinna reaches behind him and grabs a nearby box of tissues. "Katniss. What about Peeta?" He extends the box of tissues out to Katniss, who grabs it and rips a tissue out violently._

_"Are you trying to tell me that_ you don't know _?" Katniss awkwardly dabs at her eyes. "You_ were _on the same train as us, right?"_

_"I understand there was some tension at breakfast," Cinna replies carefully, "and then, at the refueling station, Cressida left the train for some reason. After that, I scarcely saw you or Peeta."_

_Katniss stares at Cinna for several seconds before replying. "You mean that you don't know about Peeta and Cressida..."_

_Cinna leans forward. "Peeta and Cressida what, Katniss?"_

_"Fucking," Katniss says miserably, her voice nearly a whisper, groping for another tissue as her tears begin to flow._

_Cinna frowns slightly. "You mean to say that Peeta and Cressida were..."_

_"Fucking!" Katniss says, more loudly this time. "The night of the President's Reception! While I was busy being the latest toy for some pervert and his disgusting wife!"_

_Cinna nods slowly. He knows all about Katniss's "Games Business." He also knows that Katniss is quickly approaching dangerous ground. Cinna's no fool. He's very aware that the Victors' Village mansions are heavily bugged._

_"What do you say you change into something warm and come outside with me for a bit?" He suggests. "I think we can both use a little fresh air."_

_Katniss doesn't argue. With Cinna's help, she quickly strips off the dress and slips on clothing more suited for an outside stroll in a District Twelve winter. Together they walk downstairs._

_Katniss pauses at the back door. "I'm stepping outside for a bit, Mom," she calls out._

_Mrs. Everdeen pokes her head through the pantry door. "All right, dear," she replies, eying her daughter closely._ They want to talk, _she says to herself._ I certainly hope Cinna can help her. I've never seen her this upset.

_Katniss and Cinna step out the back door into the brisk winter air. The smell of snow is strong in the air. The snow underfoot crunches loudly as they slowly step away from the house._

_A plaintive bleating causes Katniss to turn around to see Lady, Prim's nanny goat, standing outside her small shelter. Katniss turns and squats down near the goat, scratching her head as the small animal rubs affectionately against her leg. "Hey, Lady," she murmurs softly. "Thanks for reminding me. I need to see Goat Man about getting you a mate."_

_The last word seems to catch in Katniss's throat as she slowly stands up, to see Cinna patiently waiting for her. "You're going to breed her?"_

_Katniss nods. "Or try, anyway." She flashes a brief, tight smile. "Personally, I think Prim just wants a bunch of kid goats to take care of." Her voice trails off and Cinna can see that glaze returning to her eyes. He's seen that look before. When he was twelve, his father took him on an organized mutt-hunt in one of the old arenas. There, he watched as his father shot a mutt-antelope/mountain goat hybrid. The animal didn't die instantly...and had the same look of pain in its eyes that Katniss does now._

_Cinna blows on his hands before shoving them back in his jacket pocket. "Katniss, I'm sorry you're so upset," he says carefully. "It's perfectly understandable when your boyfriend -"_

_"Peeta Mellark is_ not _my boyfriend, and never has been!" Katniss snaps._

_Cinna frowns. "No? Well, I know you two weren't engaged -" Katniss snorts derisively "- or married -" another snort "- but did you two go out? Socially, I mean?"_

_"Cinna," Katniss chokes out, "you_ know  _we weren't."_

_"I'm sorry for bringing it up, Katniss," Cinna replies, "but I am a bit confused. What, exactly, is Peeta Mellark to you?"_

_"Nothing!" Katniss spits. "He's nothing to me!" Wordlessly Cinna hands Katniss a tissue...there's several in his coat pocket...as her eyes tear up again._

_"So, I don't understand your reaction," Cinna says gently. "He wasn't your boyfriend, fiancé, or husband. You didn't even 'date.' Of course, I understand that President Snow himself personally forbade him to see you -"_

_"How...how did you know_ that _...never mind,_ he _probably told you!"_

_"_ 'He' _never said a word," Cinna replies calmly. "Katniss, I've been around the Games for a long time. I know what goes on behind the scenes. But as I was saying...he was forbidden to see you, so it would be difficult to develop any kind of social life -"_

_"I don't understand what you're getting at," Katniss sniffs._

_"I'm trying to understand this reaction of yours," Cinna continues. "You had virtually no social contact with him, yet your reaction is that of a woman that's been cheated on by her man."_

_"That's ridiculous!" Katniss sputters. "Peeta is not 'my man,' never has been...and I'm sure as fuck not his 'woman!'"_

_"Yet," Cinna observes calmly, "You discover that he had sexual relations with another woman, and your reaction is pure, unadulterated fury." Cinna pauses for a moment. "Let's get away from that for a moment. How did you discover what had happened between Peeta and Cressida?"_

_"I...I saw her, coming out of his room, the last night we were in the Capitol." Katniss glances down, biting her lip. "I...I got back late. I had been with a client."_

_"I know, Katniss," Cinna says gently, putting his hand on her shoulder lightly. "And you know how sorry I am." Cinna hands Katniss another tissue. "But you waited until the fuel stop to confront him?"_

_"Well...not exactly," Katniss admits, sniffling back tears. "I stepped off the train to stretch my legs and get some fresh air, and Peeta came after me."_

_"Wait a minute," Cinna says, holding up one hand. "Peeta came 'after' you? He came to you?"_

_"Yeah," Katniss says, bitterness tingeing her voice. "I'm sure he caught the looks I was giving him and his whore, and guilt got the better of him."_

_"So, he sought you out. To tell you what happened," Cinna says thoughtfully._

_"That's what I said, isn't it?" Katniss says angrily. "Look, Cinna, what's the point of all this?"_

_"The point is, Katniss, is that_ he  _came to_ you _, voluntarily," Cinna explains. "True, he probably knew you were upset, and maybe he even figured out why...but, in spite of all that, he came to you to tell you."_

_"He probably felt guilty," Katniss mutters._

_Cinna nods thoughtfully. "You're probably right. Most likely he_ did _feel guilt over what he and Cressida had done. And, he probably suspected that you would be furious...and he was right. But, in spite of all that, he still came to you and told you. Why do you think that was the case here?"_

" _I don't know," Katniss whispers, her voice catching._

_"I think you do," Cinna replies gently. "He told you because he_ does _feel guilt. And he feels guilt because he loves you."_

_"I don't believe that," Katniss replies miserably. "I don't care what he's said...or done...in the past. You don't do something like that if you love somebody. I don't...I can't...believe that any more."_

_"So you think that guilt was his only motivation for telling you?" Cinna asks._

_"I don't know...why don't you ask_ him _?" Katniss snaps._

_"I don't need to," Cinna replies gently. "I'm already sure of his feelings. It's yours that confuse me."_

_"_ My _feelings?" Katniss asks as Cinna hands her another tissue._

_"Yes," Cinna replies, "_ your _feelings." He pauses for a moment before continuing. "Katniss, I'm going to tell you what_ I _see. I didn't know Peeta before the Quell, and my contact with him then, as now, was somewhat limited. But this is what I saw: any time you ever mentioned him during the Quell, it was to extol some accomplishment of his. The pride you felt for him then was quite obvious...as was your concern after the Quell was over, when he was first hospitalized. And afterward, when you all returned here, and we would talk on the phone, I could sense that President Snow's 'stay away from Katniss' edict was really bothering you."_

_"It's not just that," Katniss cuts in. "He started treating me differently right after his first Parcel Day." She dabs the tissue at her nose and eyes. "I should have known then that something wasn't right."_

_"Differently?" Cinna asks. "In what way?"_

_Katniss shrugs. "Just...different. Almost cold. Like he didn't give a shit one way or another." Her fists clench involuntarily. "I should have realized then that he really didn't love me like he'd told me he did."_

_Cinna looks thoughtful. "I see. And that continued up to the Victory Tour?"_

_"Yes," Katniss says softly. "He would avoid me. He'd only come to the house when he knew I wasn't home, he avoided me in town...Cinna, how can a person do good only for some people...and ignore people that they claim that they love?"_

_"I don't understand," Cinna replies, frowning slightly._

_"He arranged for bread donations to the Community Home! He hired Greasy Sae as his housekeeper! And he...he...practically ignored_ me _the whole time!" Katniss says bitterly. "And on the Victory Tour,_ I _was the one that came to_ him _and suggested that we at least try to appear friendly for the cameras, and_ I _was the one to suggest that he work with Effie in writing his cards for District Nine, when he wanted to honor Husker and Evie! And he never so much as said 'thank you!'" Katniss can feel the anger well up inside her again. "And he_ knows _what I'm forced to do...and he acts like he doesn't even give a shit!"_

I'll have to have a talk with Peeta,  _Cinna says to himself._  If only to try get answers for these questions for myself.

_"I can't answer you, Katniss," Cinna says gently. "But I think you've answered my question."_

_"What question?" Katniss asks impatiently._

_"On how you feel about Peeta Mellark," Cinna replies._

_"Hmmpf," Katniss grunts dismissively. "I already told you how I feel!"_

_"I don't think so," Cinna says slowly. "I knew how the knowledge of Peeta with Cressida has affected you. I didn't know how you really felt...until now."_

_"Do you_  really  _want to know?" Katniss snaps. "Fine! I'll tell you how I 'feel!' I hate him!"_

_Cinna gives Katniss a sad, gentle smile. "No. No, you don't." Cinna reaches out and brushes a tear off of Katniss's cheek with his thumb. "You love Peeta, don't you?"_

_For a single, long moment, Katniss simply stares at Cinna, before collapsing against him, burying her face in his chest, and, between sobs, choking out a single, anguished word._

_"Yes."_

**PART III**

Wearily, I sink into my favorite overstuffed chair, a steaming mug of hot chocolate by my elbow. The fire is blazing cheerily in the fireplace, casting a warm glow throughout the living room. The Mayor's Reception concluded two hours ago. My last, official, Games-related function until the next Reaping...a fact that I am eminently grateful for.

I'm exhausted. I should be in bed. But I'm terrified of the terrors that come while I sleep.

I sigh, picking up my mug, and blowing on the contents before taking a cautious sip. The sweet liquid warms me all the way down. It had started to snow during the Reception, and cars were offered to take us all back to Victors' Village, but I declined, opting instead to walk through the building snowstorm.

I walked because I'm a coward. I walked because I didn't want to take the chance of having to share a car with Katniss, and the thought of being alone with her right now terrifies me.

I have to give her credit, though. She was civil to me during the Reception. In fact, I wouldn't have known anything was amiss with her at all if I didn't look at her eyes, and see the pain that I've inflicted on her reflect back at me. But I knew... _I knew_...that she would have said something to me in the privacy of a car...and I'm too much of a coward to want to hear her words right now.

Not that I don't deserve every hateful thing that she could possibly say to me.

Both houses across from me were dark by the time I arrived home. Perhaps, for a change, everyone across the Green is asleep. I'm alone with my thoughts and my self-inflicted misery.

I'm startled by a sudden, soft knocking at my door, and for a single, brief, stupid instant my heart skips a beat as I imagine Katniss standing on the other side, forgiveness in her heart and on her lips...but, as I discover when I open the door, it's not Katniss. It's Cinna.

"Cinna," I say unenthusiastically. "What are you doing out here?"

"Right now, freezing," Cinna replies softly. I look past him and see no waiting car, and I realize that he must have walked out here from Town. "May I come in?"

"Oh! Certainly," I say, stepping aside as Cinna gratefully steps into my house. "Would you like something warm? Tea? Hot chocolate?" I head towards the kitchen. "I've already got some chocolate heated up."

"That would be fine, Peeta. Thank you." I carefully pour Cinna a cup of hot chocolate as he removes his cap, coat, and gloves, stamping his freezing feet. I carry the mug into the living room, placing it carefully on a small table next to the chair facing mine. I have a feeling that Cinna came out here to tell me something. It's certainly not a casual visit.

Cinna follows me into the living room. "Please," I say, pointing to the chair. "Sit."

We both settle into our chairs. Cinna takes a sip of his hot chocolate and sighs appreciatively, and then glances up at me. "I spoke with Katniss earlier today."

"Oh." I had known that he missed our blow-up. "So you know what happened." It's a statement, not a question.

"Indeed I do," Cinna replies. "Of course, it took me a while to pry it out of her."

"And here you are, still speaking to me," I say with a sad smile.

"Oh, our talk was...enlightening," Cinna offers. "But I'm confused on one point."

"What's that?" I ask.

"What happened after your first Parcel Day?" He asks.

I frown. "I don't follow you."

"Something happened after your first Parcel Day. Do you remember?"

"You mean about Udo Donner killing himself?"

"No," Cinna replies slowly, "although that's coincidental. He's the boy that was spreading rumors about you, correct?"

"Yeah," I reply bitterly. "I was 'detained' by Peacekeepers until they ruled his death a suicide."

"I didn't know that," Cinna says thoughtfully. "But that's not what I meant. Was there something else?"

The memory of Haymitch's talk with me comes flooding back. "Yes," I say slowly. "Haymitch. He and I...we had a talk."

"About what?" Cinna asks.

"Katniss," I practically whisper. "It was about Katniss."

"Go on," Cinna urges.

"He told me," I say, feeling the words catch in my throat, "that I should forget about Katniss. That Katniss has never loved me and never would love me. And that I had built up a fantasy about her and I wasn't capable of seeing the truth because of it."

"And you accepted this?" Cinna asks.

"It made sense to me," I reply miserably. "The way she treated me...kind one day, indifferent the next...how she would sometimes act almost like she hated me." I pause for a moment. "Like she does now. Only it's no act."

"I see," Cinna says thoughtfully. "And Haymitch  _was_  your Mentor, after all."

I simply nod, not trusting myself to speak. Cinna continues. "So you took Haymitch's advice, and found someone else?"

"What?" I ask, incredulously. "You mean... _Cressida_? No! I mean...we're not...together."

"You certainly appeared that way two nights ago," Cinna says dryly.

"Cinna, believe me," I plead. "What happened then...it just, well,  _happened..._ and I would do anything for it to have  _never_  happened!"

"Oh?" Cinna arches one eyebrow. "I would have thought differently. Cressida is, after all, a beautiful woman. Any young man would have been thrilled to have been in your position."

"What happened was an accident," I insist stubbornly. "I don't love Cressida. I never have."

"But you do love..." Cinna leaves the name unsaid. I nod, miserably.

"One time," I whisper. "It was one time."

"One time, or a hundred," Cinna replies softly. "It still hurts, and hurts deeply."

"Yes," I say. "I should have said no. I  _did_  say we should stop. Why didn't I stop?"

"Welcome to the human race," Cinna says with a small smile. "I think I know why you didn't stop. You're lonely. You're starved for affection. You're  _human._ And Cressida was there, and available, to provide company and affection to you, if only for a short time."

"Are you saying that you think what I did is okay?"

"I don't approve," Cinna replies. "I understand. There's a difference." He pauses for a moment. "I spoke with Cressida earlier today. It may interest you that she feels exactly the same way that you do. And she also told me that your...encounter...was the only one for you both."

"Does it really matter, Cinna?" I ask bitterly. "Like you said...one time, or a hundred. It still hurts."

"Here's what does matter, Peeta," Cinna says. "What matters is that both of you know what you did was wrong. What matters is that both of you deeply regret what happened. And both of you told me essentially the same story...that it was your one, and  _only_ , encounter."

I sigh deeply. "You know," I say softly, "three days ago I would have given anything to hear Katniss tell me that she loves me. But now...now, I would be happy just to know that she doesn't hate me."

Cinna slowly rises to his feet. "Forgiveness is up to her. Thank you for your hospitality, Peeta."

I stand up as well. "I ruined things, didn't I?" I ask in a shaky voice.

Cinna places his hand on my shoulder. "Only time can answer that question. But you helped me close a few holes tonight. I think I understand everything a little better now." He turns toward the door. "I really should be going. It's a long, cold walk back, and the train leaves in just a few hours."

I walk him to the door, and stand with him as he dons his hat, coat and gloves. As I open the door, he leans in close to me, and whispers, "Come outside for a moment. I have one final question for you."

I nod, stepping out into the frigid night air. I close the door carefully behind me. A few steps from the porch, Cinna gets right to the point. "You know what Katniss is forced to do."

I nod. "Yes."

"How do you feel about it?"

"I hate it." I reply simply. "I don't understand. Why are you asking?"

"Katniss is under the impression that it doesn't bother you much."

"What? Where did she get  _that_ idea?" I ask. "Look. It's true, I've never talked to her about it," I admit. "How could I? What words do I use? How do you tell someone that you hate the fact that they're being whored out against their will?"

"So it  _does_  bother you?"

"Yes!" I wrap my arms around myself, shivering from the cold. "Yes, it bothers me! Look, I tried to  _show_  her what she means to me, regardless of what she's  _forced_  to do. Was I supposed to  _talk_  to her about it?"

"No," Cinna replies. "That won't help." Cinna pauses for a moment. "But it also didn't help that she was called away, literally right under your nose, at the President's Reception. And it  _really_ doesn't help when she returns to the train after enduring abuse and humiliation, only to discover Cressida sneaking out of your room."

"Shit." I feel the blood drain from my face. "I didn't even think -"

"No." Cinna says sternly. "You didn't." His features soften somewhat. "Peeta. Would you like some advice?"

"Yes," I reply quietly.

"You say you didn't think," Cinna continues. "Start. Goodnight, Peeta."

I stumble back into my house, shivering violently from the cold, now firmly convinced of one immutable truth.

I've completely ruined what little chance I ever had at winning Katniss's love.

**PART IV**

Two days later, I bake. I take some to Haymitch, who mumbles something that may have been either "Thank you" or "Fuck you"...I'm not entirely sure which...before he disappears into his bottle again. I finally steel myself to deliver some to the Everdeens as well, waiting, of course, until I knew Katniss wasn't home. There was no answer when I knocked on the door, so I carefully place the basket containing the variety of breads, rolls, and buns on the doorstep.

A few hours later, when I once again step outside, the basket has been placed, just as carefully, on  _my_  doorstep. The baked goods inside are untouched.

I carry the basket inside the house. It seems that all the Everdeens now universally despise me.

Poppa comes to visit one day...his first since my return from my Victory Tour. For an hour or so we make awkward small talk, mostly centering on a cranky portable oil heater that he's purchased for the front of the bakery. It seems that, in spite of his best efforts, he can't seem to keep the heater going for more than a few minutes at a time. I make a vague promise to Poppa to stop in at the bakery the next time I'm in Town, and tell him that I'll look at his new heater for him while I'm there.

That's a laugh. I'm about the least mechanically inclined person that I know.

I have other occasional visitors as well...most notably Madge and Delly. But having them over is even more awkward than when Poppa visits...because I know that they are going to see Katniss as soon as they are done visiting with me.

I find myself wondering if they will ever visit again once they have had a chance to speak with Katniss.

I bake, and I paint, and, at night, I wake up in a cold sweat with a pounding heart, and I try not to look across the Green at Katniss's house to see if her lights are on. I try...and I always fail. And the lights are almost always on in the Everdeen house.

* * *

After about a week of silent solitude, I decide to walk into Town. The storm systems that have been blowing through the district have finally given way to a couple of days of clear weather. It's still cold...but the sun has broken through and the sky today is a brilliant blue.

I see a few people on my walk into Town. They all greet me with smiles and nods, and the occasional murmured hello. At least the other district residents are happy to see me...at least for now. I'm sure it will be different after the next Games come around.

I arrive in the Square to find it unusually busy. I'm not the only one that's been shut in by the series of storms. Even the Peacekeepers seem to be happy to be out and about. I find my mood increasing with every step. The sun feels good on my face and I find myself breathing deeply, savoring the fresh air.

Soon I'm in sight of the bakery. Through the big display window I can see two figures squatting down behind the display case, working on something that I can't quite make out. As I approach I see one of the figures straighten up and turn toward the window. I recognize the stocky build and gray-blonde hair instantly and wave.

Poppa sees me and waves back enthusiastically, before turning toward the figure still squatting on the floor. I see him talking to someone...I assume it's one of my brothers...and then he turns and points towards the window. I smile...my first smile in days...and hurry toward the bakery, when I see the figure on the floor suddenly jump up and throw up his hands in front of his face while spinning away at the same time.

I hear a dull  _whump_  and see, impossibly, a bright yellow-orange flower bloom in the bakery, immediately behind the display case...only to fade almost instantly, to reveal my father and brother engulfed in flame.

"No!" I shout, breaking into a clumsy run even as one figure bursts through the bakery door, his legs and lower back blazing. "Poppa!  _NO!"_

Legs-on-fire...now recognizable as my brother, Quinn...reaches me a second later, his mouth gaping open, barely human screams cutting through the still morning air. I don't hesitate. I grab him and toss him bodily into a nearby snowdrift, the flame extinguishing almost instantly in a loud hiss, before turning back to the bakery and my still-blazing father.

"Help him!" I scream at two passersby, pointing back towards my brother as I burst through the bakery door. Poppa is on his hands and knees, the entire back of his body ablaze, shrieking in agony. I grab him, ignoring the pain in my hands and arms as the flames on my fathers' body attack me as well, and bodily push him to the floor, rolling him over and over, beating at his head, his back, and his legs with my hands in an effort to extinguish the blaze, before scooping him up in my arms to carry him outside to the cooling snow.

I barely manage to straighten up when I hear a new sound, like a giant teakettle gone mad. I half-turn toward the door when the sound abruptly stops, I'm enveloped in a red flower, and a giant's fist slams into my chest, picking me up bodily and hurling me, still clutching Poppa in my arms, through the bakery's display window and out into the Square.

I land heavily, my breath driving out of my chest, my ears ringing, and I feel intense, burning pain envelope me until the blackness descends on me, and I no longer feel anything at all.

* * *

"Peeta?"

My eyes snap open. I feel like I'm floating, my arms and legs stretched out on either side of me. I hear a faint hissing and feel coolness on my mouth and nose. When I glance down I can see a transparent hump covering my lower face.

_Oxygen mask. Hospital?_

The voice must have read my mind. "Ahh. You're awake. You're in the Victor's Mercy Medical Center Burn Unit. You were brought here two days ago by high-speed trauma hovercraft. Do you remember what happened?"

I nod my head, once. "Bakery," I manage to croak.

A face swims into view over my head. In spite of the head covering, mask, and face shield, I can tell it's a woman. "That's right. I just want you to know that you are going to be just fine, though. You sustained first and second degree burns to your face, neck, arms, hands, chest, and lower legs. You had a nasty concussion as well, and lacerations from going through the window...but those are all fairly minor. We expect you to make a complete and full recovery."

I want to ask about my father and brother, but the - nurse? doctor? - does something to a machine hanging over my head and I immediately feel drowsy. "Get some rest," she says. "Someone will be here when you wake up that can answer all of your questions."

I don't argue. I can't. Blackness descends over me again as I slip into dreamless oblivion.

* * *

"Mr. Mellark?"

A familiar voice cuts into my brain this time. I manage to force my eyes open and look around for the source. Slowly, I focus on a stocky, sandy haired man, his fleshy, smooth skinned face staring at me intently. I notice that he's not wearing any kind of surgical clothing.

"Heavensbee," I manage to whisper.

Plutarch Heavensbee gives me a tight smile. "Correct. The staff here informs me that you are responding very well to treatment. Remember the Seventy-Fourth Games, where Katniss Everdeen was sent the burn ointment?" I feel a stab of pain, deep inside, just at the mention of her name. I nod, once. "Well, you're practically encased in it...and it's working wonders for you. Another day, I'm told, and the bandages will come off. You'll be home inside a week."

"Poppa," I croak.

Heavensbee shifts in his chair uncomfortably, his face turning grim. "Yes...well. Peeta...I'm sorry. Truly I am. Your father...expired."

I frown in confusion. "Expired? Stale...bread...expires." At that moment some of the fog in my mind clears away. I feel the cold grip of fear grab onto my heart.  _Oh, no. He means that my Poppa -_

"He's dead, Peeta. I...I am very sorry."

_Dead._  Heavensbee's words sink home.  _Poppa is dead._ I squeeze my eyes shut, not caring about the twin tear tracks rolling down my face.

"Peeta," I hear Heavensbee say, "if there's anything I can do -"

"You can," I manage to choke out. "You can get out and leave me alone."

Heavensbee snaps his head up, staring at me in amazement for a single, brief instant, and then stands up. "Of course," he says stiffly. "Don't hesitate to call if you need anything. Anything at all."

Heavensbee walks heavily to the door, turns as if to say something, and then shakes his head and leaves.

And I finally allow myself to cry.

**PART V**

"Say that again?"

I'm sitting in the solarium at Victor's Mercy, looking out over the shimmering city, while talking to one of the burn specialists about my post-hospital care instructions once I return to District Twelve. For the most part, I've only been half-listening to her drone on.

Until now.

"Uhh...your father expired the day after you arrived here," the doctor repeats.

"Not that part," I say impatiently. "The last part...about  _where_  he died."

"Why...in your district, of course," the doctor says matter-of-factly.

"I don't understand," I mutter darkly. "He was on fucking  _fire_! And you people just  _left_ him there?"

"Mr. Mellark...I thought you knew all this," the doctor says helplessly. "Your Life Flight was only manifested for one patient. You."

"Well, then," I snap sarcastically, "why don't you explain it to me. Pretend that I'm stupid. You know, just your typical lower district bumpkin."

For a brief instant, I see fear flash across her face.  _She knows that I'm angry. And it scares her. And, oddly, I like it._  Another thought crosses my mind as I glare at her.  _Did you bet against me? Did you watch me kill your favorite? Because I became quite good at killing, you know._

"Mr. Mellark," the doctor says, her voice trembling almost imperceptibly, "we received the call from the District Twelve Capitol Liaison office that you required a high speed Life Flight hovercraft, with burn treatment capability, for a single patient...you. The manifest only named you." She pauses and looks down toward her shoes. "And, if you hadn't been injured, we wouldn't have dispatched at all."

"So, my father," I begin, feeling my voice catch, "my father had to lay there in pain for a day before he died." I pause for a moment. "Do you know where he was taken...or was he left to lay in the street?"

The doctor pulls a PADD from an inner coat pocket and examines it briefly. "Your father and brother were taken to a local healer. One of your neighbors...a woman named Everdeen. Your brother appears to still be there. He's...responding to treatment."

"'Responding to treatment,'" I repeat bitterly. "Bet he won't look as pretty as me when he's done, though."

"Mr. Mellark," the doctor says slowly. "I  _am_  sorry for your loss."

"Sorry only means something if you never do it again," I mutter. "But life...or, in this case, death...goes on in District Twelve."

* * *

I'm discharged two days later. During my stay in Victor's Mercy, the only visitor I receive is Plutarch Heavensbee. Two people also send me flowers. The first is President Coriolanus Snow, who sends a single, perfect white rose in an elegantly cut bud vase, with a handwritten card that said simply, "Condolences. C.S."

I guess I should have been touched. Instead, I find the scent from that single rose to be nearly overpowering. The hospital staff is too terrified to throw it away.

The second bouquet I receive is from Cressida. Her note was also brief. "Dear Peeta. So deeply sorry to hear about your father. He was a good man, and I was quite fond of him. I thought it best to stay away, and I'm also deeply sorry about what happened. Your father would be proud of the man that you've become. Fondly, Cressida."

Cressida, like me, made a horrible mistake. But she was a friend. And I'm very quickly running out of friends.

* * *

I'm flown back to District Twelve in style, via high-speed hovercraft. It's the first time I remember flying where I could actually see out the entire trip, and we flew so high...over ten kilometers, according to the pilot...that I was afforded with a wonderful view of Panem...or would have, if it hadn't been for all of the clouds.

We land in the Village Green. The pilot doesn't even shut the hovercraft down as I disembark. The second I step off the ramp, he's lifting the hovercraft back into the air. It's disappeared from sight by the time I step into my house.

Sae is there to greet me. "Peeta!" She cries out, dropping the dust rag that she had been using on my already dust-free furniture. "Welcome back! How do you feel?" She raises one work-gnarled hand to run her fingers gently over my singed eyebrows.

I offer her a small, tired smile. "Hello, Sae. I'm okay. A little tired. Thanks." She guides me to the kitchen and sits me at the table while she makes me a cup of tea. In the corner of the kitchen I see her granddaughter playing with some wooden spoons. The girl looks up at me and smiles. I return her smile with one of my own.

"I'm so sorry about your Daddy." Sae reaches out and gently covers my hand with her own. "He was a real good man."

"Yeah," I reply softly, my voice catching. "Yeah, he was. Can you tell me what's been happening here? I...I haven't talked to anyone since...that day."

Sae frowns. "No one? I woulda thought that Haymitch or Katniss woulda called the hospital -"

"They didn't," I say abruptly. "And I wasn't allowed to make outside calls from the hospital...and the people there didn't know shit...I'm sorry, Sae."

"No worries," Sae says gently. "I've heard the word before. So you don't know anything?"

I shake my head. "No."

"Your Momma and oldest brother are okay. Your Momma is staying with your brother and his wife for now. The house...the house and the bakery burned to the ground. There ain't nothin' left. Your Daddy was laid to rest three days ago. Your brother Quinn...he's still across the Green at the Everdeen's." Sae pauses for a moment. "He...he's hurtin' bad."

I close my eyes. Poppa...dead and buried. Quinn...burned but alive. My mother is staying with my brother Alec and his wife Eldreth. Eldreth's father is the district undertaker...Alec will have to learn a new trade if we can't get the bakery rebuilt.

And me...the Victor...the Capitol's pampered pet...immediately flown to the finest hospital in Panem while my father and brother were left to fend for themselves. I slam my hand down on the table angrily, rattling my teacup and causing Sae to jump. I pull myself to my feet and look down at Sae, still sitting at the table.

"I'm gonna go see my brother," I announce.

I turn to leave, only to be restrained by Sae's hand gently grabbing my arm. "Peeta," she says softly, "I...I don't know what's been goin' on between you an' the girl...but you should know that all the Everdeen women ain't thinkin' to kindly of you right now."

I turn and gently disengage her hand from my arm. "I know, Sae," I reply sadly. "I know. But my brother's there." I pick up the bag that was given to me before leaving Victor's Mercy. In it was a bottle of pain-killing pills and a small container of the burn ointment that they had used so liberally on me during my stay there. I walk purposefully to the door and open it, feeling the chill air hit my still-sensitive face.

"I'll be back later," I say as I close the door firmly behind me.

* * *

I pause at the door for a single, brief instant before taking a deep breath and knocking firmly. As expected, I get no answer. I knock again...and again, I get no answer.

I place my mouth close to the door. "Please," I call out. "Please let me see my brother."

The silence continues. I shouldn't be surprised, yet somehow I thought someone...Prim, perhaps...would have let me in. I sigh, bending down to leave the bag by the door.

I place my mouth near the door again after I straighten up. "I've left a bag by the door. It has medicine that I was given in the Capitol. Please see that my brother gets it."

I've done all I can here. I just don't have the strength to simply batter down the door and force my way in. I turn away and slowly walk away from the house and toward the Green. I've walked maybe ten steps away from the house when I hear the door open behind me.

"Wait," a voice calls out softly. I stop and turn around, and see Prim standing in the doorway, holding the bag of medicine. She steps back and holds the door open for me. "Come on in."

I walk back to the house, stepping through the open door. "Thanks," I mutter.

Prim looks up at me, her face expressionless. "Sure," she replies, turning away. "Follow me. He's in here."

I follow her into the formal dining room, where I'm assailed by several different odors...burnt hair, burnt flesh, sweat, vomit, and human waste all hang in the air. I swallow once, heavily, as I enter the room.

Quinn is lying on his stomach on the expensive table, the lower half of his body covered in snow. I watch his back rise slowly. He's still breathing.

Prim removes the bottle of pills from the bag. "Good. We're out of morphling. These aren't as good but better than nothing. We'll have to grind them up and mix them with water. He still takes a little water but I don't think he can swallow pills right now." She takes the small container out of the bag next and unscrews the lid, then looks up at me. "This is all of it?"

"That's everything they gave me," I reply. I sit near Quinn's head. His eyes are closed and his breathing is raspy. He appears to be asleep. A sudden thought hits me and I look back up at Prim. "Why aren't you in school?"

"It's Sunday," she replies tersely. She carefully recaps the medicine and places it on a sideboard near the table, along with the bottle of pills. "Mom ran into Town to see if the apothecary has anything. When she gets back we'll figure out where we'll use this stuff."

I reach out and gently touch Quinn's forehead. He stirs slightly at my touch. I look back at Prim. "He's hot."

She nods slowly. "His burns are infected. We don't have anything decent for infection."

"Is he asleep?" I ask softly.

"Mom thinks he's in a coma," Prim replies gently. "She said that if the fever gets worse we'll try to break it. There's nothing else we can do." She pauses for a moment. "He needs a hospital, not a dining room table."

I nod and stand up. "I know. I tried." I walk toward the dining room entrance. "Thank you for taking care of Quinn. I...I'm going into Town to see my mother and Alec. And, after that, I...I'm going to say goodbye to my...to Poppa." I can't control my pent-up emotions any longer. I sag weakly against the wall as the tears flow freely down my face.

Prim...the old Prim, the one full of compassion...steps forward and gently takes my arm. "You should go home and rest, Peeta. You don't look very good. Your mother and Alec aren't going anywhere...and I think your father would understand."

I turn towards Prim, and ask in an anguished voice, "How did you do it? How did you cope when you lost your father?"

"It was hard," Prim says softly. "And I was only seven. Mom was there but not there, with the Sadness and all. But I had Katniss to lean on. Katniss helped me through the worst of it."

"And I have no one to help me," I whisper. "No one that cares."

"You're wrong," Prim says as she guides me to the door. " _I_  care. Now come on. I'm taking you home. And I don't want you going anywhere for the rest of the day."

I don't resist. I'm suddenly, overwhelmingly exhausted. Prim supports me as we make our way across the Green to my front door. Before I enter my house, I turn to her one last time.

"You...you know what happened...between your sister and I," I stammer.

"I know." Prim steadies me against my door. "Katniss told me. She told me  _everything_."

"Everything?" I ask in surprise.

"Everything," Prim replies firmly. "Including the stuff you had told me, as well as the stuff about you and Cressida." She pauses, head down, looking at the ground. "I liked Cressida. So did Katniss. That's what hurt Katniss the most, I think." Prim looks up and quickly changes the subject. "The Holo broadcasts on Capitol TV are calling you a hero, you know. The whole thing was caught by a Peacekeeper security camera mounted across the Square."

I nod. I had already heard about the Holo-TV news broadcasts, even though I haven't seen any of them. "I don't feel very heroic," I mutter. "Aren't hero's supposed to succeed?"

"Katniss won't watch it when it comes on," Prim mentions suddenly. "She gets up and leaves the room until it's over."

"Because she hates me," I add sadly.

"No," Prim says, opening my front door. "No, I don't think that's it at all. And you did succeed. You got the fire out on Quinn and you were getting your father out when that heater blew up." She takes my arm and firmly pushes me into my house, where Sae appears and takes my other arm. "Miz Sae, I told him he's not to leave this house for the rest of the day."

"Don't you fret, girl," Sae replies as she leads me into the living room, "he ain't goin' nowhere."

"I'll let you know if anything changes with Quinn, Peeta," Prim calls out from the door. "Get some rest." The door shuts firmly behind her as she leaves.

My mind was whirling as Sae settles me into my favorite chair and bundles me up in a blanket, and it was still churning as I fall into a restless, uneasy sleep.

**PART VI**

_Prim slips back into the house and immediately checks on Quinn, and then grabs a mop and bucket to clean up the snowmelt that's settled underneath the dining room table. As she's wringing the mop into the bucket she hears a small noise from behind her. She doesn't turn around._

_"Is he gone?" Katniss asks quietly._

_"Yeah," Prim replies as she picks up the full bucket and clumsily carries it to the back door, carefully pouring the water into the snow-covered flowerbed next to the back steps. She straightens up and looks at her sister. "Quinn needs more snow coat. You want to help?"_

_Katniss nods. "Sure." The girls quickly pull on rubber overshoes and coats before stepping out the back door, each carrying an empty bucket. Several more buckets sit on the back steps._

_Katniss and Prim crouch in the snow and begin to fill their buckets. "Those too," Prim says, pointing at the empties sitting on the steps. "For later." Katniss merely nods and continues to fill her bucket._

_The girls work in silence for a minute, before Prim turns to her sister. "He came to see his brother.."_

_Katniss nods, not looking up. "I know why he was here. I heard him."_

_Prim grabs another bucket and begins to fill it. "He looks terrible. His eyebrows are almost gone and his face is a bright red, like bad sunburn. I don't think he's been sleeping well either."_

_"Makes two of us," Katniss says as she savagely plunges her trowel into the snow, dumping the contents into her bucket._

_"He brought some medicine. Burn ointment and pain pills. I'm gonna check with Mom when she gets back where we should use the ointment. There's not much." Prim stands up and carries her bucket to the back steps, joined a second later by Katniss. Prim eyes the full buckets critically. "That should be enough."_

_The girls return to the warmth of the house, to find Mrs. Everdeen returned from Town. She holds up the container of burn ointment and the bottle of pills. "Where did this come from?"_

_"Peeta Mellark brought them over," Prim explains. "He's back."_

_"Oh," Mrs. Everdeen replies. "Well, it's better than what I got in Town, which is nothing. You got some more snow?"_

_Prim nods. "Yes. All the buckets are full."_

_Mrs. Everdeen nods thoughtfully. "Good. We'll use it later." She puts down the burn ointment and then uncaps the bottle of pain pills and shakes two out in her hand before carefully recapping the bottle. She drops the pills in a small ceramic mortar, and then crushes them into powder with a matching pestle. "Katniss, can you bring me a little water?"_

_Katniss disappears into the kitchen, returning with a small glass of water. "Thank you," Mrs. Everdeen mutters as she carefully mixes the powder into the water. She hands the glass to Prim. "Katniss, you and I are going to lift Quinn up a bit so he can take this," Mrs. Everdeen explains. "Thank goodness he still seems to take water okay," she adds as she and Katniss each grab the supine boy by his shoulders and carefully lift him up._

_Quinn moans softly as they lift him up. Prim guides the glass to his mouth and slowly helps him drink the mixture. He coughs once, slightly, but seems to swallow the rest. He never opens his eyes. Mrs. Everdeen and Katniss carefully lower him back to the table._

_"He's so hot," Katniss murmurs as Quinn settles back down._

_"Infection," Mrs. Everdeen says matter-of-factly. "We'll try to break his fever tonight. If that doesn't work, well...we will keep him as comfortable as possible." She wipes her hands on a towel and looks at Quinn Mellark sadly. "Having you Mellark boys on my table is becoming a habit," she whispers._

_"Is he going to die?" Katniss asks quietly._

_Mrs. Everdeen sighs heavily. "I don't know. Probably. The Mine Company doctor won't help. I understand that Peeta tried to arrange for him to be airlifted to the Capitol and was turned down." She gazes sadly at the young man lying on her table. "This medicine is his last hope," she says, holding up the container. "I just don't think there's enough to do any good."_

_Katniss bites her lip but says nothing. Mrs. Everdeen turns to Prim. "Why don't you go milk Lady? You need a break. Katniss, could you please keep your sister company while she tends to her goat?"_

_"Okay," Katniss replies quietly, glad for an excuse to get away from the makeshift hospital and to step out into the crisp, cold air once again. Prim is already at the back door, shrugging into her coat and overshoes once more as Katniss joins her._

_Mrs. Everdeen waits until the door closes behind the girls before moving to Quinn's side and pulling the makeshift dressings off of his burns. Sadly, she shakes her head as she unscrews the container, dips her fingers into the ointment, and goes to work._

_"Too little, too late," she mutters. Quinn groans as she works, but never opens his eyes._

* * *

_Prim gently scratches Lady behind her ears as she settles herself on the small milking stool, carefully arranging the bucket under the small nanny goat._

_"Mom wanted us both outside because she's gonna work on Quinn," Katniss says._

_"Uh huh," Prim replies, as she gently begins to pull on Lady's teats in a practiced motion. Milk is soon flowing into the small bucket._

_"She thinks that I can't take it," Katniss says in disgust. "Sometimes I think that she forgets that I'm a Victor."_

_"Or maybe," Prim replies, as she continues to milk her goat, "she wanted us out here to talk."_

_"You mean," Katniss asks indignantly, "about_ him _?" Prim merely shrugs her shoulders noncommittally._

_"Maybe," Prim replies as she works. Without looking up, she asks, "Are you planning on hating him forever?"_

_Katniss folds her arms across her chest, half from the cold, and half a defensive gesture. "Whatever it takes," she mutters._

_"I just think," Prim continues, "that you're missing a great chance here."_

_"Make sense, Prim," Katniss says impatiently. "What 'chance' are you talking about here?"_

_"The chance to be the bigger person," Prim explains._

_"I don't understand," Katniss replies. "What the hell are you talking about?"_

_Prim spins around on her stool and faces her sister. "Katniss, when you came to me and Mom, and told us what Peeta had done, and how much it hurt you, I was so angry at him! I was angry that he hurt the person that I love the most in this world. And so, like you and Mom, I shunned him. I pretended that he didn't exist. He would leave a basket of bread on the front steps and I would take it and put it on_ his _front steps. And the whole time I kept thinking,_ I thought I  _knew_  him _! And then it hit me."_

_"What hit you?" Katniss asks softly._

_"Just that," Prim says, as she stands up, carefully lifting the small bucket of goat's milk. "I realized that I didn't_ know _him at all. Not like Delly...or Madge. So I talked to them...Delly especially. Do you know what they told me?"_

_"I don't want to hear any more," Katniss says flatly. "I don't care what they told you."_

_"Katniss," Prim says gently, "you really need to listen. His mother_ beat _him almost every day when he was younger. Could you imagine Mom beating us? Or Dad, when he was alive?"_

_"I already knew that!" Katniss snaps._

_"So then you already know that he doesn't have many friends," Prim says as she watches Katniss's face carefully. "Oh, he was pretty popular in school...but the only_ true _friends that he had were Delly and Madge...and once all his troubles started they even turned their backs on him for a while." Prim carries the bucket to the back steps, carefully placing it on the top step._

_"So then I thought,_ I don't understand him _," Prim continues. "So I started thinking back to right after he came home from the Quell and moved out here...and how grateful he seemed to be whenever he had company. And I combined that with what I learned from people like Delly and Madge."_

_"So, you talk with a couple of Town girls and you think you have all the answers?" Katniss asks sarcastically._

_"Not all," Prim replies calmly, although the sting of Katniss's words reflects in the hurt in her eyes. "But I know enough. Katniss, why do you think President Snow makes you do the things he makes you do?"_

_"To control me," Katniss replies softly. "Prim, I don't wanna -"_

_"Just listen. Control, yes. But something deeper." Prim looks at her older sister lovingly. "Katniss, you don't see it. You_ can't _see it. But he does these things to_ break  _you. Look at Haymitch! He's broken...just like you're becoming. And President Snow told Peeta to stay away from you for the same reason. He wants him broken too."_

_"It's not that simple, Prim," Katniss sighs heavily. "And that doesn't explain why_ he _did what_ he _did."_

_"Yes, it does," Prim says gently. "Peeta is lonely. Desperately lonely. He's like Haymitch, living alone in that huge house. I know what you did on the Tour. I know you went to him and suggested that you two act like friends for the cameras. But_ he _knew it was an act!_ Heknew _that things would go back to the way they were once you all got home."_

_"It wasn't all an act," Katniss whispers. "Not all of it."_

_"Peeta didn't know that," Prim replies. "So when someone reached out to him, and offered him simple human contact, he grabbed it...and it was wrong. Peeta knows it, Cressida knows it, and you know it."_

_"So, what am I supposed to do, Prim?" Katniss asks in a choked voice. "Forgive_ him _?"_

_Prim shakes her head. "That's up to you to decide. And I'm not sure if you ever will be able to forgive him completely. Just try to understand him."_

_"You said something about being the bigger person," Katniss says. "Is this what you're talking about? Understanding?"_

_"In part," Prim says. "Katniss, when Peeta was over earlier, he never mentioned you once until I said something about you. That's how far gone his mind is. He's lost his father, he'll probably lose his brother, his mother is homeless, the bakery that's been in his family since before the Dark Days is gone, his other brother can't help, he's lucky to be alive, and_ he doesn't know what to do! _He's_ lost _, Katniss. And he has no one to help him...no one to turn to."_

_"And you expect_ me _to be that person?" Katniss asks quietly._

_Prim hesitates for a moment before replying. "You know what it's like to lose a father. You could help him with that. If you can put aside all the bad feelings that you have."_

_"And what if I can't?" Katniss asks._

_"Then Peeta will probably end up like Haymitch," Prim replies bluntly. "Come on. Let's go inside. The clouds are starting to thicken up again...it looks like more snow's on the way."_

_Katniss pulls Prim into a hug. "When did you grow up and get so smart?"_

_Prim smiles up at Katniss. "I take after my big sister."_

**PART VII**

Two days after arriving home, I'm working in the kitchen, kneading dough. Baking is therapeutic. It's also a way for me to hold on to my father's memory.

I've been awake since just after midnight. Nightmares jarred me awake, and nothing I tried was able to get me tired enough to fall back to sleep...not warm milk, or painting, or even a hard workout on the exercise equipment in my basement. So I finally give up and bake. Maybe this time the Everdeens will accept the breadbasket that I bring them.

Dawn is just starting to break when I hear a soft knock at my front door. I know it's not Sae...she won't be here for another hour, at least. I wipe my hands off with a towel and go answer the door.

I find Primrose Everdeen on the other side of the door and I know that it has to be bad news. "Prim," I say, opening the door wider and stepping aside. "Come in."

Prim looks at me for a moment, her eyes shining, before she speaks. When she does, she says two words. "I'm sorry."

I feel my stomach knot up when I hear those two words. "When?" I manage to choke out.

"Just now," Prim replies. "He...we had managed to break his fever and he even woke up last night. We thought he was getting better." She pauses for a moment. "His fever came back just after midnight and got worse no matter what we did." Prim looks up at me. "He was unconscious. He didn't suffer. He just...went."

"Thanks," I say tonelessly.  _I can't cry. I_ won't  _cry. Not here. Not now._ "Good thing my oldest brother married the undertaker's daughter, huh?" I add with a humorless laugh. I toss the towel down and strip off my apron. "They should be up. I'll walk into town and see about someone coming out to pick Quinn up."

"Mom will be there," Prim says quietly. "Katniss, too. I...I have to go to school today. I'm sorry."

"I know," I reply as I shrug into my coat. "It's okay."

"How are your mother and brother doing?" Prim asks.

"Mother refuses to come out here to live," I reply bluntly. "She said she'd rather be homeless than have Seam trash as neighbors. Alec is...coping. Prim, I'm sorry. My mother isn't a good person. This may sound bad, but I didn't want her living here with me anyway."

"It's okay," Prim says with a small smile. "I understand." She turns toward the door. "Peeta. If you need anything -"

I nod. "Thanks." I walk back into the kitchen and drape damp towels over the rising dough before I leave. Prim is still waiting for me at the door. When I open the door I notice a light snowfall beginning.

It will be a cold walk into Town. Somehow I manage to hold back my tears until I'm actually all the way out of Victors' Village.

Somehow.

* * *

I don't even feel the cold anymore.

We buried Quinn two days ago. It was a small, private ceremony. Myself, My mother, Alec and Eldreth, some of Quinn's friends from school...and that was it. A dozen people, no more. I had invited the Everdeens but I really didn't expect them to come, although Prim said that they would try.

It's just as well. My mother would have made things all that much worse if they had shown up.

I've come out to the cemetery every day since, sitting on a tree stump by the graves of my father and older brother, the freshly turned earth on both now covered in snow, and ask myself the same questions over and over again.

_What didn't I do that I should have done? What did I_ do _that I shouldn't have done? If only I had gotten there a few seconds earlier!_

I ask myself these, and other, questions. And I've yet to find any answers.

Mostly I just sit and stare at the graves, as if I can somehow bring them both back to life by sheer force of will. But, of course, I can't. No one can. But I know that they didn't have to die.

They died because the Capitol let them die.

I was the least injured out of all three of us...and yet, I was the one that was airlifted to the Capitol. Why? Because I'm a  _Victor,_ and not just  _any_  Victor. I'm the  _latest_  Victor,  _and_  the winner of the Third Quarter Quell. And, in spite of my pleading, the Capitol refused to budge in allowing my father or my brother any sort of decent medical treatment. They simply weren't  _important_  enough.

I scoop up a handful of snow, compress it into a ball, and fling it at a nearby tree, watching with a kind of grim satisfaction as it explodes against the trunk. That's what I want to do the Capitol, and to President Snow in particular...hurl him against a tree and watch his head explode.

Snow is ultimately responsible for my father and brother dying. And Snow is the one that will pay.

"Hey," a soft voice says from behind me. I'm so startled I actually jump and spin around, looking for the source of the voice. And I see just about the last person on Earth that I expected to see.

Katniss.

She's standing a couple of steps behind me, staring intently at something on the ground. She's bundled up well against the cold, even wearing an old, gray knit cap over her head and ears. Vaguely I wonder where she got it. It's definitely seen many years of use.

"Sorry," she says quietly. "I...you're busy. I didn't mean to startle you." She turns to leave. "I...I'll leave you to -"

"Wait," I manage to choke out. Katniss stops, her back to me. Even through the layers of clothing I can see her tense up. "You don't have to leave."

Katniss turns around slowly. "I went by your house. Sae said you would probably be here." She pauses for a moment. "Sae knows you better than I do."

"I told her where I was going," I reply quietly. "That's how she knew."

"She does, though," Katniss continues. "So does Prim, and my Mom, and Haymitch, and the lady down at the Community Home. They all know you." She pauses again, staring at the ground and scuffing at a patch of frozen earth with the toe of her shoe. "I don't."

"If you've come out here to fight, you'll be disappointed," I say wearily. "I won't fight back. I can't."

"That's not why I came," Katniss says indignantly.

"Then why?" I ask, standing up and wiping my hands nervously on my pants.

"Prim says that you aren't eating," Katniss says accusingly. "She's brought you dinner the last three nights and you haven't touched it."

"For what it's worth, I'm not eating what Sae fixes me, either. I don't have much of an appetite," I mutter. I look at her, trying to read something behind those silvery eyes...but all I can see are her cheeks, reddened from the cold.

"I'm here because my sister asked me to talk to you," Katniss blurts out suddenly.

"Prim? Talk to me? About what?" I ask.

"Your father," Katniss replies softly. "And your brother."

Emotion wells up in my chest.  _Don't cry. DON'T CRY._ "How did you do it?" I hear myself asking plaintively.

For the first time Katniss looks at me with emotion reflected in her eyes. Compassion. She may hate me, but my father's death hit home for her. She understands what I'm going through.

"You take each day as it comes. You cope." Katniss says. "Maybe you should talk to someone else. I didn't go through the same thing you are now."

"I don't understand," I reply. "You lost your father, same as me."

" _Not_  the same as you!" Katniss shoots back. " _You_ don't have to worry about starving, like I did! Or about being dragged off to the Community Home because your mother stopped taking care of you, like I did!  _I_ had to fight just to stay  _alive_!"

"Yeah," I say softly. "Yeah, you did."

"What's  _that_ supposed to mean?" Katniss asks archly.

"It means nothing," I shoot back defensively. "It means I agree with you. That's all."

"Well, to me it sounded like..." Katniss begins, and then her voice trails off.

I sink back down onto the stump. "I told you," I say again, turning my face away as my emotions get the better of me, "I won't fight with you. I don't have any fight left in me."

Katniss says nothing. I stare down at the ground, squeezing my eyes shut as tears of...anger, at my father and brother's meaningless deaths? grief that they're dead? frustration at trying to cope and not knowing how? sorrow, for all the pain I have inflicted on Katniss? shame, at what that had done to Katniss?...begin to drip into the snow at my feet.

"Look," I finally say, trying, and failing, to keep my voice steady, "I'll tell Prim that you talked to me. I'll even tell her that it helped. And I'll eat the plates that she fixes for me." I clumsily wipe my eyes with the balls of my hands and look up at Katniss. "Your heart isn't in this. You came out here because your sister asked you to...not because you wanted to. And I'm the only one to blame for that. So you can go home and tell Prim that you did what she asked."

"No," Katniss whispers. "No." She takes a step toward me, then another. "I've seen you look a lot of different ways. Angry, scared, determined, upset...even sorrowful. But I've never seen anyone look as wounded as you do right now." She takes a final step toward me and slowly, tentatively; she gently places a hand on my shoulder. "I'm so very sorry about your father and brother," she whispers. "Really, truly sorry."

I look up at her. "For whatever it's worth to you," I reply softly. "I'm really, truly sorry also. About...everything. And there's not a day that goes by since then that I haven't wished that I could go back and change things."

"We're doing it again," Katniss whispers. "Apologizing, I mean."

"I needed to," I reply softly. "You didn't."

"I do feel terrible about your father and brother," Katniss continues. "Your father...he was a good man. And I wish I had known your brother better." Katniss pauses, pulling her hand off of my shoulder and wrapping her arms around her chest tightly. I recognize the gesture. It's not from the cold...she's feeling defensive.

"I'll help you however I can deal with your loss," she finally says. "I'm sincerely sorry about your father and brother." She takes a deep breath. "But I'm not forgiving you. I don't know if...if I ever can forgive you."

"I don't expect you to," I whisper. Katniss reaches down and takes my hand in one of her gloved hands and pulls me to my feet.

"Come on," she says. "You need to get home and warm up. And you need to eat something."

I follow her out of the cemetery. The snow begins to fall again as we walk. It squeaks under our feet as it covers the older snow already there.

"I have to ask you something," I finally say as we near Victors' Village.

"What?" Katniss asks warily.

I take a deep breath. "I just need to know...do you hate me?"

It takes Katniss several paces to answer me. "Cinna and I...we talked...right after we got back from your Tour. He helped me figure some things out." She looks at me, and, for the first time today, allows the ghost of a smile to creep across her face. "No. No, I don't hate you. I should...but I don't."

I simply nod, not trusting myself to speak. The smile disappears from Katniss's face as she then adds, "But you hurt me. I know that you know this. And that's why I can't forgive."

We reach the split at the Green where my house lies to one side, and Katniss's the other. Katniss turns to me one last time. "Go home. Eat something. And if you want to talk about your father and brother...let Prim know."

Katniss turns to go. "Katniss. Thank you." I call out.

Katniss nods once without turning around. "Sure," she murmurs. She trudges back to her house. She doesn't turn around.

**PART VIII**

Truthfully, I'm not sure what I expected from my encounter with Katniss in the cemetery. Reconciliation? She made it quite clear that she wasn't ready to forgive me for what I had done.

Still, I should have taken the fact that she reached out to me as a positive sign. And I would have, too, if I weren't so consumed with guilt and anger at the deaths of my father and brother...as well as the guilt that I feel for hurting Katniss the way that I had done.

I guess I was lucky that Katniss was most likely feeling as awkward as I was about seeing me after we had our talk. Although there were small improvements...I started eating again, and Katniss doesn't go out of her way to avoid me anymore...she's far from being overtly friendly, and it's pretty obvious that things are still strained between us.

It took a talk that I had with Prim to finally break her out of her shell.

* * *

I thought that it was perfectly innocent. Prim had come over one night with some leftovers (once rare, it seems lately that Mrs. Everdeen making too much has become an everyday occurrence...so much so that I ask Sae not to make dinner any more), and we had been talking, as usual. That particular evening the conversation had turned to Prim's concern about what Katniss was being forced to do while in the Capitol, and I had mentioned in passing that Cinna had spoken to me about that very subject.

I should have realized that Prim was holding nothing back from her sister...including what she and I had been talking about...if Katniss asked about it, which, apparently, she had been doing on a regular basis.

At any rate, I was home, painting, two mornings later, when an angry pounding on my door interrupts me.

I continue to paint as Sae answers the door. Whoever's at the door is speaking quietly with Sae. I don't allow the interruption to break my concentration. My latest portrait is of my father and Quinn kneading dough in the back room of the bakery. Poppa is looking up at me and smiling.

Holding onto these memories is what helps me get through each day.

A soft knock at my studio door causes me to look up in annoyance. My gaze softens when I see Sae standing at the door, nervously fidgeting with her apron.

"Somebody for me?" I ask quietly as I wipe off my hands.

"Yeah," Sae murmurs. "It...it's the girl."

"Thank you, Sae." I carefully wipe off my brushes and drop them in a jar of paint thinner, all the while hoping that Sae can't hear my heart thudding away in my chest. "I'll be right down. Ask...ask her if she would like to come in."

Sae beats a quick retreat back down the stairs as I finish cleaning up. I look at my hands, and the smears of paint on them. No time to properly wash. I descend the stairs carefully...my prosthetic was a little uncomfortable this morning...and see, before I finish walking down the stairs, that Katniss has declined my invitation and is, instead, standing by the open front door.

I pause for a moment, trying to fix what I hope is a casual look on my face, and finish walking to the door. "Katniss," I say brilliantly. "Hi."

Katniss doesn't respond immediately. She has a very carefully crafted look on her face...a look that I'm quite familiar with...that impassive set that could mean anything. Only her eyes belie her anger.

"Get your coat," she orders brusquely. "We need to talk."

_It's starting again._  I don't argue. I grab my coat, slip it on, call out "I'll be back in a bit, Sae," and follow Katniss, being careful to shut my door behind me.

As we walk towards the Village entrance, I catch up with her. "May I ask where we're going?"

"A place where we can talk," is all Katniss will say. I sigh inwardly. I have a feeling that she doesn't want to make small talk.

Katniss leads me out of the Village and into a part of District Twelve that I had become quite familiar with...the Seam. I suddenly have a good idea where she's headed.

Her old house.

I was right. We quickly make our way down the dirt street, now frozen solid, and turn down a short side street into a familiar neighborhood. Katniss moves quickly to the door, inserts a key, and pushes down on the latch. The door opens with a squeal of hinges that desperately need oil and Katniss steps through, turning as she does so to beckon at me impatiently.

_Might as well get this over with,_  I say to myself as I enter the small, musty, cold house. As soon as I'm in, Katniss pushes the door shut. It slams closed firmly.

I turn toward Katniss. "All right," I say wearily, "what do you want to -"

_Crack!_  My head snaps back with the force of Katniss's slap. "You son of a bitch!"

I bring my hand up to my cheek slowly, more shocked that anything else. "If you want to fight," I say slowly, "I'm gonna let you know right now that I still don't have any fight in me." I rub my cheek tenderly. "But can you at least please tell me why you're pissed at me  _this time_?"

"As if you don't  _know_!" Katniss spits.

"I really don't, Katniss," I reply softly.

"You talked to Prim the other night," she continues accusingly.

"Yeah," I reply warily. "We usually talk when she comes over."

"About me being a whore?" Katniss snaps as tears begin to roll down her face. "You had no right to tell her about what I'm forced to do for you...her!  _No right!"_

"She told you," I say wearily, sinking down onto a rickety wooden chair.

"No shit, she told me!" Katniss's fury is building with each passing second.

I sigh heavily. "Katniss...you're right. I shouldn't have said anything. That was for you to say...not me." I pause and look up at her. She's standing directly in front of me, her eyes blazing, fists clenched, chest heaving with her agitated breathing. "But don't think that Prim is too young...too innocent...to know the truth."

"You don't know what the  _fuck_  you're talking about!" Katniss is practically snarling. "She's  _my_ little sister,  _not_  yours! And I think I know her just a little bit better than you!

"That's the problem, Katniss. You see her as your  _little_  sister. Someone that needs protecting. She's  _tough_ , Katniss! She's a  _healer_." I can feel myself becoming agitated as I speak. "She needs you...not as a protector...but as a peer." Suddenly something that she said hits me. "And what did you mean by 'what I'm forced to do for  _you_?'"

"I never said that!" Katniss snaps.

"Yes, you did," I continue. "You said ' _you.'_ "

"Well, I meant 'her,'  _not_  you!" Katniss whirls around and stalks away, only to spin back towards me. "Oh, why the  _fuck_  do I let you do this to me?"

I know what I heard. She said "you" before she said "her." But now is not the time to continue  _that_ argument. I stand up, taking a deep breath of the chill air in the house. "What are you talking about? I don't do anything to you!"

"Yes, you do!" Katniss takes a half step towards me. "You drive me  _insane_  sometimes! You talk about me to my sister...and I even hear that Cinna came and talked to you also!  _Cinna!_  Why?"

Shit. She knows about Cinna. "Do you want the truth?"

Katniss's eyes narrow as she crosses her arms in front of her chest. "If you're capable of telling me the truth...yes!"

My father used to say, "In for a penny, in for a pound." I never really understood that until just now. "He wanted to know if Haymitch talked to me right after I got back home after my Games."

"'Talked to you?'" Katniss asks. "About what?"

"You," I reply softly.

Katniss looks at me skeptically. "What about me?"

"He said," I begin as my voice catches in my throat, "he said to...to forget about you. That you didn't love me. That you would never love me."

"That son of a bitch," Katniss mutters as her gaze drops to the floor. "He's  _so_  dead!" She looks back at me. "Of course you  _believed_  him."

"I had no reason not to," I reply bitterly. "The hot and cold way that you had been treating me...what was I supposed to think? Yes! Yes, I believed him!"

"You know damn good and well why I treated you the way I did!" Katniss snaps. "How could you...or anyone...really lo - I mean, feel anything for me? Especially when you act like what I do doesn't even bother you?"

"That's the other thing that Cinna talked to me about," I explain. "Katniss, I never...I mean, of  _course_  it bothers me! I tried to show you...but I just didn't know  _how_!"

Katniss spins away from me. "Well, you didn't try hard enough," she mutters.

I sigh heavily. I feel so tired all of a sudden. "I'll never understand you," I whisper.

Katniss turns back toward me. "Prim said that I should try to understand you. But I don't. So I guess we're even."

"Even," I say flatly. "That's the best we can do? 'Even?'"

"You're doing it again," she accuses.

"Doing what?" I shoot back.

"Pushing my buttons! Driving me crazy!" Katniss spins around and stalks away. "You...you have no idea. No idea at all how much you...you... _affect_  me!"

"As if  _you_  don't affect  _me?_ " I throw my hands in the air. "You've been  _affecting_  me for years! And what is it about  _me_  that bothers you so much?"

"You mean, aside from your Capitol whore?" Katniss asks archly.

Fuck. I  _knew_  she would bring that up eventually. "I don't get it," I say weakly. "You're nice to me one minute...cold the next. Wonderful one day...a stranger the next. What the  _fuck_ am I supposed to think, Katniss?  _What_? _"_  I'm aware that my voice is rising as I speak, but at this point I'm just about beyond caring.

"Do you  _really_ want to know?" Katniss barks, her voice rising as well.

"Yes! Yes, I want to know!" I shout. "Why do you keep doing this shit to me?"

Katniss is standing practically toe-to-toe with me, her entire body quivering with emotion, her eyes blazing, her chest heaving with each breath.

"Because," she shouts, "because I love you!  _That's_  why!"

* * *

The silence in the small Seam house is deafening.

Katniss is staring up at me, the words that she had just spoken hanging in the air heavily. She looks horrified...trapped, even. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest.

"What?" I manage to croak out. "What did you just say?"

For a long moment, Katniss just continues to stare up at me. "I...I...oh,  _shit_!"

"What did you say, Katniss?" I repeat.

"You heard me." She's almost pleading with her eyes.

I reach down and take both of her cold hands in my own. She doesn't resist. "You love me?" I ask.

Katniss looks at the floor. "Yes," she replies, her voice heavy with misery. She looks back up, her face defiant. "I didn't want to. I never wanted to. But I do." I feel her hands grip mine tighter. "It's  _you_!  _You_  did this to me! It's all your -"

"Katniss!" I cut in abruptly. "Enough talk," I add, more gently.

And I kiss her.

* * *

For a moment I feel every muscle in her body stiffen and I feel a brief flash of fear...fear that I've gone too far and that Katniss will push me away...until I feel her entire body relax as her muscles go water-soft and she lets go of my hands, sliding her hands up my arms to grip my shoulders tightly.

She gives a soft moan and leans into our kiss. My eyes flutter open briefly and I catch a glimpse of her face, her eyes closed, her long, dark lashes fanned against her high cheekbones.

Tentatively I reach for her waist and I grip her firmly, my fingers almost able to encircle her tiny waist as her body presses against me and I feel her lips open under mine, followed by the tip of her tongue shyly tracing the outline of my lips. Her hands loosen their grip on my shoulders and her arms wind sinuously around my neck, her hands busily stroking the back of my head and my neck.

It's my turn to moan as Katniss's fingers continue their caress, and my own lips open to search for her tongue with my own. I feel her body shudder slightly from the sensation of my tongue sliding wetly over her own and we both groan as our bodies press together urgently.

I feel myself overcome with emotion and desire as tears form behind my closed eyes, even as I feel my organ swelling and growing firm inside my pants. Katniss can feel it, too, and involuntarily her body jerks away before she slowly, deliberately, pushes her hips up against mine. The sensations coursing through my body are almost too much and, with a gasp, I break our kiss.

"Oh, Katniss," I moan softly as her lips tease the base of my throat. "It...it's too much..." I feel my tears escape from under my eyelids as my arms slip around her slim body entirely. My hot tears drip unashamedly onto Katniss's face as she continues to kiss the side of my neck, causing her to jerk back, and she tilts her head back to look into my face.

"Peeta," she whispers gently, "what's wrong?"

"I don't know!" I cry out softly. "Nothing...everything...I just need to know if this is real!"

"It's real, Peeta," Katniss replies softly. I see uncertainty cross her face. "Do you...do you still...love me, even after -"

"I never stopped," I choke out. "I never stopped!"

"Peeta," Katniss moans breathily as her hands pull my lips down to her again. As we kiss deeply I can feel wetness on her face and I know that her tears and mine are mingling together.

I feel a sudden flush of embarrassment as my manhood, now fully erect and pulsing with every beat of my heart, presses awkwardly against the front of my pants. I shift slightly in an attempt to move the offending bulge away from contact with Katniss's slender body, only to once again feel Katniss deliberately push her hips and thighs against me. She groans softly into my mouth as her tongue winds sensuously around mine.

Katniss breaks our kiss and buries her face in my chest. "Peeta," she begins softly, "you know what I...what I'm forced to do."

"Yes," I somehow manage to choke out. "Katniss, I'm so very -"

Katniss quickly lays her fingers across my lips. "Shhhh." I glance down at her and I can see her neck and cheeks start to redden, and I know it's not from the chill room. "I...what I do, it's...there's no feeling," she stammers. "But here...now...oh, Snow, this is so fucking embarrassing..."

"Katniss," I say gently, but firmly, "I love you. And if you don't want -"

"No!" Katniss says sharply. "Peeta...what I'm trying to say is...this is the very first time in my entire life that I've ever...wanted to."

"Oh, Katniss," I breathe. I pull her closer to me. "You don't have to do this -"

"I know, Peeta," she replies softly. "I don't  _have_  to. And that makes me  _want_  to all that much more."

Gently, ever so gently, I put my hand under her chin and tilt her face up to mine so I can kiss her. She eagerly presses her lips against mine. "I...I know that  _you_  want to, Peeta," she says shyly as our lips finally part. "I...I can tell. And it's okay."

"Are you sure?" I ask, feeling my heart pound in my chest.

Katniss nods against my chest. "Yes. Oh, yes." She steps back and takes my hand. "Come with me," she says softly, as she leads me through the small house to the only other room, other than the main room.

This room was her mothers' bedroom.

The bed is neatly made, as if expecting its' previous occupant to return at any time. As soon as we enter the room Katniss returns to my arms, clutching at me in a kind of quiet desperation. "Please," she whispers, "Peeta. Please...love me."

"I do," I groan softly. "I do love you, Katniss...so very much!"

Katniss looks up at me, her silvery gray eyes shining brightly in the dim light filtering into the musty room through the window and the thin, cheap curtains.

My hands slip to her waist once more...this time, sliding down to the hem of her shirt, burrowing underneath, and then slowly sliding up the warm, smooth skin of her back, reveling in the feel of her under the pads of my fingers.

Katniss groans, and then suddenly shrugs her shoulders, allowing her coat to fall to the floor before her hands slip under my coat, pushing it off my shoulders to land in a heap by my feet.

The chill of the room is all but forgotten as we clumsily undress each other. My fingers work the buttons of her shirt, pausing in their task only long enough to allow her to pull my sweater over my head, quickly followed by my t-shirt. Both quickly fall to the floor to join my coat as my fingers finally undo the last button on Katniss's shirt, my trembling hands sliding across her upper chest and collarbone, pushing the shirt off her shoulders, baring her breasts to my passion filled eyes.

The olive skinned globes ride high and proud on her chest...small, firm mounds, each topped with dusky brown nipples, now hardened by the chill air...or something else. Desire. Her own eyes shyly scan over my chest and she combs her fingers lightly through the light dusting of hair on my pectoral muscles, even as I lightly brush my thumbs across her nipples, feeling her body shiver in response.

"Do you..." she stammers. "I mean...are they..."

"Perfect," I whisper. "They're perfect.  _You're_ perfect."

Katniss drops her gaze to the floor. "No. No, I'm not," she says quietly.

I cup my fingers under her chin and gently lift her head. I give her a tender, gentle kiss as the emotion once again wells up inside me. Blinking back tears, I say, "You've always been perfect to me."

In response, Katniss smiles up at me as her hands drop from my chest, busying themselves at the fastenings of my pants. I gasp softly as her fingers accidentally brush over the prominent bulge as she undoes my belt, her hands dropping to the button, fighting with the fastening until it, too, pops open. I gasp again as her fingers slowly slide my zipper down, swallowing heavily as I clench my eyes shut, suddenly light-headed.

Katniss slides her hands into the back of my pants and under my shorts, pushing both down my legs. Awkwardly I grip her slender shoulders, balancing as I kick my shoes off, my socks quickly following. There's a momentary discomfort as my descending pants cause the shaft of my manhood to bend downward. With a final tug, my pants and shorts drop down to my knees as my erect organ springs free, slapping audibly against my lower belly.

I hear Katniss gasp softly as my erection is revealed and I waste no time in working on the fastenings of her pants. Somehow my clumsy fingers manage to work the front of her pants open and I slide my hands inside, pushing her pants and her satiny panties down her slender legs, only to be stopped by her high-topped boots.

It's Katniss's turn to balance on me as she deftly steps out of her boots and socks, kicking her pants off impatiently. Finally, we stand before each other, totally naked. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as Katniss slowly raises her head to lock my gaze with her incredibly mesmerizing silvery gray eyes.

Slowly, carefully, I reach out to her, my hands sliding over her arms, her shoulders, and down her back. In spite of the chill air, her skin is warm...even hot to the touch...as I pull her against me, reveling in the feel of her smooth skin rubbing against my own. I feel her arms slide around me, pulling me tightly against her. I hear her moan slightly...or was that me that was moaning?...as our lips meet once more in a wet, passionate kiss.

Katniss shifts against me, and I feel my manhood brush against the soft skin of her belly, causing me to groan softly. She pulls her mouth from mine and looks up at me. "I...I want to," she says wonderingly. "I want to! Peeta," she moans, "please...please love me."

"I do love you," I breathe as I push her back slightly, causing her to bump against the edge of the bed, sinking down on the worn mattress, with me following her down. In seconds, we're both laying next to each other, our lips glued together as, for the first time, I allow my hands to roam freely over her slender body.

I feel her nipples bud up against my fingers as I caress them, hearing her sigh as my lips tease down her throat. My other hand is stroking her back gently, my fingers brushing over the rising swells of her buttocks, feeling them clench together involuntarily as the tips of my fingers slide between the satiny mounds, teasing and caressing the whole time.

I kiss down her chest, lowering my lips to her breasts, kissing and sucking her hardened nipples, hearing her soft whistling moans as she arches her back, pushing her breast firmly against my lips. My other hand teases down her flat belly until my fingers brush gently through a silky thicket of softly curling hair, dampened from her arousal.

It's my turn to groan around one fiercely budding nipple as her fingers tease down  _my_  belly, Katniss's fingertips brushing gently over the sensitized skin of my erect shaft before closing firmly around my throbbing organ, and she begins and slow up and down milking motion with her hand.

I groan again, hearing Katniss whisper, "Does this feel good?" I can only nod dumbly as my breathing quickens. "Katniss," I manage to gasp, "You have to...I can't..." and then, just then, inspiration hits me. I leave off kissing and sucking her nipples and begin to kiss my way down her body. Down her chest, her belly, whimsically kissing her indented navel, and lower, still lower, until my chin is being tickled by the silky curls that cover the sweet juncture of her slim thighs.

"Peeta," I hear her gasp, "You...you...what are you doing?" She squirms her hip away from my lips and tongue as I realize that, for all of her many forced encounters at Snow's whim, that  _not_   _one_  of those depraved Capitolites has ever taken the time to show her even a single moments' pleasure. No one has ever taken the time to even try to make  _Katniss_ feel good.

Until now.

I gently kiss the insides of her upper thighs, my nose filling with her heady scent. At first resistant, Katniss now willingly spreads her thighs apart, that high, keening moan once again escaping her lips. With one finger I gently trace the small, swollen nub at the top of her sweet center, causing her to jerk slightly. My tongue-tip works its way through her silky curls and I groan, as I taste Katniss's essence for the very first time. Another jerk of her hips and I feel a sudden, small spurt of wetness course over my tongue, and it's my turn to groan as I feel her desire build with each passing second.

I gently spread her folds open with my fingers, delicately licking inside and all around her wet lips. Katniss's hips are in constant motion as I alternate between driving my tongue in as deep as I can, and then fluttering the tip against that small, engorged button that seems to be the center of her pleasure.

All too quickly, Katniss clamps her thighs tightly against my head, her fingers buried in my hair as she pulls me against her, her hips vibrating as she moans, loudly, again and again, and a fresh flood of sweet wetness coats my lips. My hands slide up her taut body, my fingers gently caressing her nipples as my tongue slows, and then finally stops, even as her gasps turn to sighs and I deliberately kiss my way up her body, hesitating for a moment until she presses her mouth hungrily against my lips, still slick from her essence.

Katniss kisses me for a long time, her fingers gently caressing my face, until she finally pulls her mouth from mine and opens her eyes, looking into my eyes with a wondering stare.

"I never...I never..." she stammers, words escaping her as she pulls me close to her. Finally she gives up. "I love you," she whispers.

"And I love you," I whisper in return, feeling my breath catch as her fingers wrap delicately around my still rock-hard organ. Her eyes never leave mine as she shifts next to me, rolling from her side to her back, her thighs drifting apart as she urges me on top of her. I hesitate for just a moment, as I look down at her, and she stares solemnly back up at me. I rise up on my elbows, keeping my full weight off of her as she tenderly guides my shaft until I can feel it press against her sweet wetness.

"Katniss," I breathe, "We...if you don't want to, we -"

Katniss puts her fingers against my lips. "I want this. Peeta...I want  _you_." Her eyes flutter shut as her thighs open wider. "Now. Please."

I squeeze my own eyes shut as I slowly, deliberately, sink into her. I'm trapped in a warm, wet vise. I groan softly and I feel her mouth press against mine as I continue to slowly sink down until my belly brushes against hers. Katniss moans softly into my mouth as my hips begin to rise and fall, slowly at first, but getting faster and faster with each thrust.

I push myself up on my hands, opening my eyes and peering down between our straining bodies, watching my shaft appear and disappear into Katniss's welcoming body over and over again. Suddenly Katniss begins to rotate her hips slightly, causing me to groan again as new sensations course through my engorged organ, my groans adding to the symphony of moans and creaking, squeaky bedsprings as my thrusts get faster and faster.

It was over too soon. Just as when Katniss reached her peak from my lips and tongue, I reach mine seconds after her legs wrap around my waist. I moan loudly as I feel myself exploding, my manhood pulsing again and again as I empty myself into Katniss's willing body. Katniss herself is gasping and, as I begin to pulse, she lets out a soft cry of her own as our movements slow, and then finally stop, as I carefully settle down on top of her, supporting my weight on my elbows.

Gradually, our hearts and our breathing slow to normal. I lean down and kiss Katniss on her neck, close to her ear, and whisper, "I love you." I feel a sudden chill on my back and I reach down, clutching at the threadbare bedspread and pull it up and over us. I shift slightly, rolling off of her, sighing slightly as my now flaccid organ slips out of her body. I slide my arm under her shoulders and she willingly snuggles up to me, her own arm draping possessively across my chest.

It's several minutes before either of us speaks. "This will be the last time I say this," Katniss says softly. "Because we've both said it to each other too many times. I'm sorry for sending you all those mixed messages for so long. I'm sorry for confusing you. And I'm sorry for any hurt that I've ever caused you."

"I'm sorry too, Katniss," I whisper. "For...everything. All the hurt. All the pain in your heart that I put there. I'm more sorry than you will ever know."

Katniss looks up at me. "I want you to know, Peeta," she says deliberately, "that I still haven't forgiven you. But I learned today that I can still love you...even through anger."

"You're still angry?" I ask gently.

She shakes her head slightly and gives me a small smile. "No. Not any more. And I love you, too." She kisses me gently, lovingly, before snuggling against me.

We lay like that for a while, not talking, just holding each other. A thought crosses my mind and for a moment I'm concerned...until I voice my fears to Katniss, who chuckles softly and says, "No worries, Peeta. I can't get pregnant." A hint of bitterness creeps into her voice as she adds, "The Capitol thinks of everything."

All too quickly, it's time for us to go. The house is starting to get colder, and Katniss tells me that she can't risk even a small fire in either the stove or the fireplace. "I'm not even supposed to be here," she explains. "But I had to find someplace to just...get away."

"I know," I admit softly. "Katniss, I've known since my first Parcel Day that you've been sneaking out here." I explain how I saw her one day when I was cutting through the Seam.

Katniss looks at me intently. "And you never said anything?"

I shake my head. "I figured you needed your sanctuary." Suddenly, Katniss leans forward to kiss me.

"Thank you," she whispers tenderly. "For understanding." She looks up at the dim light coming through the dingy windows. "We need to head back soon," she says reluctantly.

"Not just yet," I plead, pulling Katniss down next to me. She doesn't resist. "Stay with me for just a while more."

Katniss snuggles up against me. Her next word is so quiet that I almost miss it.

"Always."


	24. CHAPTER 24

**CHAPTER 24**

**PART I**

_Katniss is lying on her side, looking at Peeta's face, now relaxed and peaceful as he dozes. A stray lock of hair has fallen down over his forehead. Katniss reached over and carefully, tenderly, brushes it back. Peeta frowns slightly, murmurs something, and then relaxes again, letting out a deep, contented sigh._

He looks so peaceful.  _Katniss sighs._  I'll really hate to wake him.  _She rolls onto her back and stares up at the ceiling. Peeta stirs slightly and rolls toward her, draping one arm over her chest protectively. Katniss smiles._ Did I really tell him that I love him?  _She turns her head and looks at Peeta's face once more._ Yes I did. I told him I love him because I do.  _Katniss turns her head away and stares up at the ceiling again, fighting back tears._

I love him...and that's why I can't risk seeing him like this again. He's lost his father and brother. If something happened to his mother -  _Katniss shudders slightly at the very thought of that awful, shrewish woman_  - or his oldest brother, because of me, I would never be able to forgive myself.  _Katniss looks back at Peeta._  But I can't stay away. Not now. Not after...this.

_Peeta stirs slightly and slowly opens his eyes. A smile slowly spreads across his face when he sees Katniss looking at him...and then stops when he sees the tears trembling in her eyelashes._

_He reaches out slowly, and very tenderly wipes the tears from her eyes. "Katniss? What's wrong?"_

_"Nothing," she whispers, choking on the word._ I'm such a terrible liar. He'll see right through me.  _"It's just that I...love you so much."_   _At least_ that _wasn't a lie._

_"Katniss..." Peeta says slowly, "Are you sure that's all?"_

He knows.  _"That's all." She forces a smile on her face._

_"I'll never get tired of hearing you say that," Peeta says tenderly. Gently, Katniss takes his hand and presses her lips to it, before letting it go._

_"It's getting late," Katniss whispers. "We should go," she adds reluctantly._

_Peeta nods just as reluctantly. "You're right," he sighs. Abruptly, he sits up, swinging his legs out of the bed. For the first time, Katniss can clearly see the criss-crossing pattern of flogging scars on his back. As Peeta stretches his arms over his head, Katniss reaches out and almost delicately traces her fingers over the raised tissue._

_"You still have them," she says softly._

_Peeta looks back at her over his shoulder. "The docs in the Capitol tried to remove them, but the wounds were too deep and too well healed." He looks down at his forearms and hands. "They did manage to clean up the scars on my hands and arms, though, from all those years in the bakery..."_

_Peeta's voice trails off as he remembers the bakery...the early mornings working with his father, kneading dough, the smell of flour and cinnamon. Katniss sits up behind Peeta and slides her arms around his shoulders from behind, carefully laying her head on his shoulder, kissing it tenderly._

_"I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I know it's still...painful."_

_Peeta reaches up and covers her hands, now resting lightly on his chest, with one of his own. "It's okay, Katniss. I never want to forget. Besides, I can't go through life never talking about it."_

_Katniss notices the edge in his voice but says nothing._ He's angry. Angry that his father and brother died when they could have been saved. I know the feeling. I've carried around anger in my heart for my father for seven years.

 _Peeta sighs and rises to his feet. Katniss is alternately embarrassed and fascinated by her view of his naked body._ I never thought a man could be beautiful. But Peeta is beautiful.  _She watches as Peeta bends down to pick up his clothes from the floor, and stumbles slightly as he does so. Peeta curses slightly under his breath as he catches himself, straightening up slowly._

 _Katniss wraps the thin bedspread around her and stands up._ It's his leg. It's bothering him. _"Does it hurt?" She asks._

_Peeta shrugs. "I'm finding out that cold weather makes it ache." He slips his pants on, sitting back down on the bed to put on his socks and shoes. "I hardly noticed it before the weather turned. I usually leave it on all the time, in fact. Even when I sleep." He bends forward to tie his shoes. Katniss notices with amusement that he carefully double-knots each lace, and feels a new smile spread across her face. "But I sometimes take it off at night and...what's so funny?"_

_"Nothing," Katniss says, covering her mouth with her hand. "I've just never seen anyone over the age of ten double-knot their shoes before."_

_"Well, they always come loose unless I do," Peeta says, somewhat defensively. He turns, facing her fully, as he pulls his t-shirt over his head. He grins at her, as she stands there, wrapped only in the bedspread. "Aren't you gonna get dressed?"_

_"Uhhh," Katniss stammers, blushing suddenly, "Yeah. Umm, Peeta...turn your back."_

_Peeta smiles. "Katniss...why? Believe me, you have nothing that you should hide. Besides, we just...you know."_

_Katniss tries, and fails, to suppress a shudder. "Peeta," she whispers, images of others...Cassius Hammersmith, Bacchus Brandywine, Seneca Crane_ (Not Seneca! Not now! Not with Peeta right here!) _...all flood her mind. "Please," she pleads. She sees the slightly glazed look of desire in Peeta's eyes and shudders again. "Please," she whispers miserably, sinking slowly back down onto the bed._

_"Katniss?" Peeta murmurs, concern etching his face. He takes a half step toward her, stopping when she flinches back._

_"Don't!" She says, half hissing, half pleading. "Don't," she repeats, her voice nearly inaudible. "Peeta...please. Don't. Touch. Me."_

_Peeta stops, confusion now written on his face. "Katniss," he murmurs again, "are you...are you alright?"_

_"Does it_ look _like I'm alright?" Katniss asks miserably. She clenches her fists, hammering them impotently against the sagging mattress. Peeta stands there helplessly, wanting desperately to help, and not knowing how._

_"What can I do, Katniss?" Peeta asks softly. "Just tell me. Tell me, and I'll do it."_

_Katniss shakes her head, not daring to look up at him. "Maybe...maybe you should finish getting dressed...and leave," she says softly. "It...it would be best anyway, if we weren't seen leaving together...you know."_

_Peeta nods his head slowly. "Okay," he replies. He quickly pulls on his shirt and shrugs into his jacket. "Can I ask you something?" He asks quietly._

_Katniss slowly raises her head and looks at him._ Oh, Snow. He looks so...wounded! _"What do you want to ask, Peeta?"_

_"Is it me?" He blurts. "I mean, because of me?"_

_"Oh, no!" Katniss stands up, facing him, clutching the bedspread tightly around her. "No, Peeta...it's not you...it's me." Katniss bites her lip and turns her head away. "Oh, shit. That sounded like a bad line. Peeta, I'm -"_

_"Don't say it," Peeta interrupts gently. "No more apologies. Remember?" He smiles sadly at her. "I think I understand." He turns to go, and then turns back to her. "I love you, Katniss."_

_Katniss squeezes her eyes shut, willing her tears not to fall, and doesn't succeed. "Do you?" She whispers._

_"Do I understand?" Peeta replies gently. "Yes. Do I love you?" He pauses for a heartbeat. "Yes. Yes, I love you, Katniss."_

_"I love you," she chokes, her body trembling. Peeta hesitates for another moment before turning toward the door. After a moment, Katniss follows him out of the bedroom. Peeta puts his hand on the door handle and hesitates once more, looking over his shoulder at her._

_"Don't let them take you from me, Katniss," he pleads. "Not after this. Not after today."_

_In response, Katniss steps forward, ignoring her trembling, and the cold, irrational fear bubbling up from deep inside her...and leans forward to kiss Peeta tenderly on his lips._

_"I won't," she whispers. "I'll fight them. With your help, Peeta."_

_Peeta doesn't touch her. He doesn't dare. "_ We'll _fight them, Katniss. Together?"_

_Katniss nods, allowing the ghost of a smile to play on her lips. "Together."_

_Peeta pushes down on the door handle and cracks the door open slightly. "I'll see you later. Back in the Village." He steps through the door and then turns back one final time. "Katniss? I love you." The door shuts firmly behind him, and Katniss can hear his slow, measured footsteps crunching through the snow and ice as Peeta begins the long, cold walk back to Victors' Village._

_Katniss slowly reaches out and runs her fingertips over the rough wood of the door. "I love you too, Peeta," she whispers, just before she begins to softly cry._

* * *

_Did what just happen really happen?_

I slowly walk back to Victors' Village, hands buried in my coat pockets, my breath wreathing my head in white clouds as I walk.  _Did Katniss and I just...make love?_

I know the answer, but it doesn't feel real to me.  _Katniss took me to her old house to yell at me...and instead she ended up telling me that she loves me. It's not the way I pictured it happening, but what are important are the words, not the setting. It was perfect...right up until the end._

I clench my hands into fists inside my coat pockets as I walk, feeling a sudden flush of anger at those Capitolites that have abused her for their own twisted pleasure.  _They'll pay,_  I promise myself.  _Oh, how they'll all pay._

Lost in thought, I exit the Seam, cutting through a corner of Town as I continue to head towards home...and I run into just about the last person that I expected to see.

Goat Man.

He's trudging along with his shoulders hunched against the cold, gripping a piece of twine in one work-roughened, reddened hand. The other end of the twine is tied loosely around the neck of a small Billy goat that is trotting along beside him.

"Goat Man," I say, somewhat lamely, as I approach him. "I...what I mean is, it's been a while."

Goat Man peers at me through rheumy eyes. "Well, well...if it ain't the Victor," he says, his voice dropping into a phlegmy cackle at the end. "How's life in the Village, boy?"

I shrug as I fall in next to him. The little Billy goat bumps against my leg, bleating plaintively. Absently I reach down and scratch him between the stubs of his horns. "As well as I can expect, I guess," I answer.

This revelation brings on a round of throaty laughter. "Ain't all that you expected?"

I shrug again, trying to keep my voice...and my face...neutral. "It's got its ups and downs."

"Ain't that the fuckin' truth," Goat Man mutters. His head swivels around toward me. "Listen, boy...the whole district heard about your daddy and brother," he says in a low voice. "Liam Mellark was always a fair man." Goat Man pauses for a moment. "This district is a worse place without him in it."

"Thanks," I mutter, not trusting myself to say any more. We walk in silence for a minute or two, our footsteps crunching through the crust of snow and ice the only sound. After a while, I realize with surprise that Goat Man is heading for the same place that I am...Victors' Village.

"The goat for Prim Everdeen?" I ask, scratching the animal between his horns once again.

"Yeah," Goat Man replies. "Her sister was by a day or two ago. Asked me for a breeder. Asked that I deliver." Goat Man pauses, coughs, and spits a thick, greenish wad into the snow off to his right. "Snow's Balls, boy, the girl paid me twenty Sesterces for this animal if I deliver.  _Twenty_! I woulda delivered him to the Capitol itself for that kind of coin!"

"Good thing you already know your way to the Village, then," I remark dryly.

Goat Man looks at me through narrowed eyes, one eyebrow arched. "Boy, if I didn't know any better," he replies in a low, even voice, "I woulda thought you were being a smart-ass just now."

I recognize the even tone and the stink-eye that he's just dropped on me. And, in spite of the fact that he's four times my age, I somehow know that this elderly, frail appearing man is someone to be reckoned with...whether or not he's displaying his almost supernatural ability with knives.

"I never did thank you for your help in training me," I manage to mumble.

To my surprise, Goat Man actually laughs. "Oh, you did, boy. You did. You survived. That's all the thanks that I need...or want."

We walk on in silence for a few more minutes, and soon we are passing under the arched entrance to Victors' Village. I give the little goat a final scratch between the horns. Goat Man looks at me strangely for a moment before speaking again.

"I don't reckon you know where the elder Everdeen girl is, do you, boy?" He asks.

"Uhhh," I stammer, "I...I'm not sure right at the moment." Two images flash briefly before my eyes as I reply to Goat Man's question...Katniss in the throes of passion, and Katniss clutching the bedspread around her like a protective shield, practically snarling at me not to touch her. The second image lingers far longer than the first.

"Hmmph," Goat Man grunts. "Well, no matter. As long as the mother or the little girl has the money." He tugs gently on the twine. "Come along, you." He glances up at me. "I'll see you around, boy."

I nod slowly. "See you...say, what  _is_  your name, anyway? And don't tell me 'Goat Man!'"

The old man looks at me in surprise for a moment before replying. "It's been so long since anyone's used my real name I damn near forgot." Goat Man straightens up, tugging at the hem of his well-patched, threadbare coat, and announces, "Silenus Festuca, Sergeant, Republic of Panem Peacekeeper Corps...retired. Formerly of District Two," he adds.

My mouth drops open in sheer astonishment at this revelation. Old, decrepit Goat Man...a retired Peacekeeper  _Sergeant?_  The old man sees the expression on my face and laughs. "Surprised, boy?"

I shake my head. "No. Stunned and shocked is more like it." I look at him skeptically. "I don't get it. You...a  _Peacekeeper_? And a Sergeant? Why live the way you do with a Peacekeepers pension?"

"Why, indeed?" Goat Man/Silenus Festuca grins. "Lots of reasons...but the biggest one is that no one expects to find a retired Peacekeeper Sergeant living near a mine entrance and raising goats for a living." He pauses and scratches his chin thoughtfully. "Truth be known, I thought I was fucked when Thread was first posted here."

"You know him? Thread?" I ask.

Another thick, phlegmy cough that could have been hiding a laugh. " _Know_ him? Boy, I  _trained_  him." Goat Man/Festuca hocks up another mouthful of something vile and disgusting, turns his head, spits, and turns his head back toward me when he is done.

I'm all but speechless. Goat Man...a retired  _Peacekeeper_. "Why are you here?" I finally manage to ask.

"This was my last posting," he replies softly. "And my favorite. Something about this district really drew me in. So I petitioned to be allowed to retire here. My request was granted only because I had dirt on the old Head...and they didn't make it easy for me. So I became invisible...Silenus Festuca disappeared and Goat Man took his place."

I shake my head. I never would have guessed in a million years. "Boy, I gotta go," Festuca says. "We'll talk later. I got a feeling you have some questions."

I nod dumbly. "Yeah. A couple."

Festuca turns to go, tugging lightly on the twine leash. "Maybe I'll have some answers. See ya around, boy."

I watch him walk up to the Everdeen house and knock on the door. Mrs. Everdeen answers, greets him, and then spots me and gives me a quick wave and smile. I return both before heading into my own house, to try to ponder everything that's happened here today...my changing relationship with Katniss, the incredible few hours we spent together, her reaction toward the end, and Goat Man's revelation to me.

I stomp the snow off my shoes before entering my house, a small smile creeping across my face as I do so.

I'm smiling because, for the very first time, Katniss told me that she loves me.

* * *

_Retired Peacekeeper Sergeant Silenus Festuca, his business with the Everdeens concluded, makes one final stop in Victors' Village before returning to his shack near the east entrance to the mine. Slowly, he raises his hand, grasping the doorknocker firmly, and raps it four times on the striker._

_Hazelle Hawthorne answers the door. She takes in his shabby, unkempt appearance in a single, disapproving glance. Poor that she is, Hazelle has standards...and the Goat Man doesn't meet hers._

No reason for a man to run around filthy,  _she says to herself. "Yes?" She says politely._

_"G'day, Miz Hawthorne," Goat Man replies. "Is Mr. Abernathy available?"_

_"One moment," Hazelle disappears into the house, leaving Goat Man on the front porch. He didn't have long to wait. Haymitch Abernathy appears at the door in less than a minute, a surprised look on his bleary, unshaven face._

_"Thank you, Hazelle," Haymitch calls out behind him. He turns back to Silenus Festuca, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Help you with somethin'?"_

_"Maybe," Festuca replies. "Got a minute?"_

_Haymitch hesitates before nodding once. He grabs a coat off a nearby coat rack, shrugs it on, and steps outside, shoving his bare hands into his coat pockets against the cold weather._

_Together the two men stroll down the walkway toward what Haymitch sarcastically refers to as "Village Circle," the narrow roadway that loops through Victors' Village. Once they reach the circle, Haymitch turns to Festuca, concern and anger written on his face._

_"You better have a fuckin' good reason for takin' a risk like this," Haymitch mutters._

_Festuca chuckles. "Relax, boy. I was conductin' a bit o' business at the Everdeens and was in the neighborhood."_

_"Still," Haymitch continues, "It's risky for us to be seen together."_

_"Gettin' cautious in your later years," Festuca chides him. "You weren't so cautious last year when I was trainin' your boy."_

_"That's not the same thing, Silenus, and you know it!" Haymitch snaps. "Besides, it worked out, didn't it?"_

_"Yeah," Festuca replies. "_ This _time. And that's what I wanna talk to you about."_

_"What? Training Peeta Mellark?"_

_"No," Festuca replies patiently. "Just Mellark."_

_Haymitch eyes Festuca suspiciously. "What about him?"_

_"I ran into him comin' outta the Seam earlier today."_

_Haymitch frowns. "The Seam? What the fuck was he doin' there?"_

_Festuca looks at Haymitch slyly. "Where's Katniss Everdeen?"_

_Haymitch shoots an annoyed glance at Festuca. "Huh? How the fuck should I..." His voice trails off as the realization of the hidden message behind the question dawns on him. "No," he whispers. "No, that can't be. She's been royally pissed at him for_ weeks _!"_

_"Well, boy, give me another reason why the kid woulda been in the Seam," Festuca chuckles._

_Haymitch shakes his head. He knows that Silenus Festuca is probably right. The veteran ex-Peacekeeper was also a trained Investigator, accustomed to assembling a puzzle one piece at a time until the picture emerges. If Festuca is saying that Peeta and Katniss were probably together earlier today, he says it for good reason._

_"Shit," Haymitch mutters. "If he_ was _seeing her, he's taking a helluva risk. If Snow gets wind of him sniffing around Katniss, he'll take it out on -"_

_"On who?" Festuca cuts in. "On his mother? No loss there. On his surviving brother? Haymitch, you surprise me. Liam Mellark was the key to Coriolanus Snow holding power over Peeta...and he's dead. I woulda thought you'd have that figured out by now. Or ain't you as sharp as the smart-ass ten-year old Seam brat that I'd run in for tryin' t' lift peppermints from Donner's Sweet Shop?"_

_Haymitch smiles ruefully at the memory. "Mama would beat my ass every time you hauled me in." He shakes his head. "Those were different times, Silenus. Could you imagine Bellatrix Breccia hookin' some Seam brat for stealin' nowadays? Probably get the lash...or worse."_

_"The lash," Festuca repeats thoughtfully. "Yeah. And that brings me to the real reason why I wanted to talk t' you."_

_"Not about Peeta hookin' up with Katniss in the Seam?" Haymitch replies mockingly, before adding, "Snow's Beard, man, get on with it! I'm freezin' my balls off out here!"_

_"Didn't know you still had any?" Festuca remarks dryly. "Okay, Abernathy, here it is...you need to bring them in. Now. They're ready...the both of them."_

_Haymitch stares at the older man for several long seconds before replying. "They're not ready," he says flatly._

_"Bullshit!" Festuca snaps. "Everdeen's been whored out for over a year, and Mellark's been fucked over by his own district, and those Capitol bastards let his father and brother die. There's others here takin' bigger risks...the Undersee girl, July Barrow at the Home, even some Peacekeepers...and besides, we_ need _their voices. People listen to new Victors."_

_"I don't like it," Haymitch mumbles._

_"You ain't gotta_ like _it," Festuca says reasonably. "You just gotta_ do _it."_

_Haymitch can do nothing but nod grimly. "So the schedule's the same?"_

_"Yeah," Festuca replies. "No change. Our...contacts...will infiltrate as planned during the Equinox."_

_Haymitch sighs. "Gives me a few weeks, at least."_

_Festuca grips Haymitch's arm. Haymitch glances down at the gnarled claw that grips him with surprising strength. "Haymitch. This is important. For you, for me...hell, for the whole Rebellion. You_ gotta _get Everdeen on board. She's the key. Without her, things will go to shit in a hurry."_

_"And Peeta?" Haymitch asks skeptically. "Don't you want him 'on board' too?"_

_"There's no rush with the boy," Festuca replies with a chuckle. "He'll follow Everdeen's lead."_

_"You sound pretty fuckin' sure of yourself," Haymitch grumbles._

_"I am," Festuca says. "The boy_ is _in love with her, after all." Festuca pauses for a moment. "And boys his age tend to not forget their first love. Just remember, at least Everdeen." Festuca pauses again and grips Haymitch's arm tighter._

_"She's the Mockingjay, after all."_

* * *

I don't see Katniss for the rest of the day...or that evening, for that matter. I don't even see Prim, who had been delivering leftovers to me just about every night.

I had to stop myself several times from going over to Katniss's house, just to see if she was all right. Her mood change toward the end of our time together in her old Seam house had me worried...and angry. And I'm determined to give her whatever help that she needs to get her through this horrible time in her life...even if it means giving her space.

I finally fix myself a somewhat tasteless, unsatisfying dinner and eat without much appetite. After dinner, I try to read for a while...some Capitol-approved book on the importance of maintaining production quotas in the districts...before finally giving up and climbing the stairs to bed.

I take a long, hot shower...reluctantly washing Katniss's scent off of my body...and then towel myself off and slip into a t-shirt and shorts. I'm just about to draw my drapes when I see her.

Katniss is standing in front of her window, facing directly toward me. I can see that she, too, is ready for bed...wearing a sleeveless top and loose-fitting pajama bottoms. I slowly raise my hand and waving, hoping that she can see my smile as well.

She does, returning my smile with one of her own. And then she does something else. Slowly, deliberately, she points to her eyes, then makes the shape of a heart with the fingers of both hands, and finally points at me. The meaning is unmistakable.

I. LOVE. YOU.

I make the same signs back to her. Her smile widens and she blows me a kiss, which I return as well. She then pantomimes going to sleep. I nod to show her that I understand and continue to watch her until she extinguishes the light in her bedroom. Then, only then, do I draw the drapes closed and climb into bed.

For the first time in weeks, I have no nightmares.

**PART II**

"Townie, wake up."

I feel myself frown as the familiar voice penetrates the fog of sleep hanging over me. Fuck. And I was sleeping so well, too!

"Shit," the voice says in exasperation. "C'mon, Townie, wake the fuck up!"

"No," I groan. "Lemme alone!"

"Not happening," Gamma says. "Now you either open your eyes or I stay here all night."

Muttering a curse, I roll over and force my eyes open. Gamma is sitting on the edge of the bed. Alone.

I sit up. "Where's Gale?"

Gamma chuckles. "Pouting. He ain't quite over your little rendezvous with Katniss yesterday."

I look at the clock. 12:18 in the morning. Gamma's words sink in and I find myself blushing. "You  _watched_?" I ask indignantly.

"Not all of it," Gamma replies with a smirk. "Just the good parts."

I roll over, facing away from her. "You can be a real bitch sometimes," I mutter.

"Why, thank you, Townie!" Gamma smiles. "I didn't think you'd noticed!"

"Oh, I noticed," I reply, turning back to face her. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"Two things," Gamma replies. "First of all...your father and your brother. They've crossed over."

I swallow heavily as Gamma speaks. "How...how are they?"

Gamma sighs heavily. "Confused. They...fought it. Coming over, I mean. They haven't been here very long, in fact."

I frown. "I don't get it. What do you mean, 'they fought it?'"

Gamma shakes her head. "It...it's hard to explain. For some...those that fight death...crossing over is difficult. And some never do. Remember the ghost stories we would hear as kids? The Haunted Mineshaft, the Spirit in the Hob, shit like that? Those are people that never crossed over for whatever reason. Your father and brother...they weren't ready to die...so they fought. Not like me and Gale."

"That's why you were there in the hovercraft," I whisper. "You didn't fight."

Gamma smiles sadly. "We both knew, Townie. We both knew at Reaping that we were dead. We just hadn't stopped breathing yet."

Although I was glad to hear that Poppa and Quinn were finally "crossed over," the conversation was making me more and more uncomfortable. "You said two things. What's the second?"

"I can't give you details," Gamma replies. "But you and Katniss have something to do. Something important. So, if you hear anything that sounds crazy...just go with it."

"That's it?" I look at her in disbelief. " _That's_  all you can give me? Come  _on_ , Gamma!"

Gamma shakes her head firmly. "That's all I can say. Don't worry, Townie. You'll know it when it happens. Go back to sleep now. Maybe when we talk the next time Gale won't be quite as butt-hurt."

My eyes snap open. Again, the whole "was it a dream" question rises up in my mind. I peer at the clock and see with a shock that it's now 7:06. I  _never_  sleep this late.

I pull myself out of bed and stumble into the bathroom. My mind is filled with thoughts of Gamma's visit last night...of the news that Poppa and Quinn have "crossed over," and that Katniss and I have "something important" to do. But  _what_? Part of me wishes that these otherworldly visits by Gale and Gamma would just stop...and part of me is afraid that they will do just that.

I sigh as I finish my business in the bathroom. I just wish I knew for sure if these visits were real...or not real.

* * *

We have visitors two days later.

I haven't really seen Katniss...or anyone, for that matter...since the day that Katniss and I went to the Seam. When I do catch glimpses of Katniss, it's from afar...but she always manages to furtively flash me our "I love you" sign and blow a quick kiss in my direction. Every time I see her it's all I can do to keep from rushing over and gathering her up in my arms...and truthfully I don't know what's stopping me.

Yes, I do. It's Katniss herself. The change in her demeanor while I was with her two days ago tells me that the horrors of what Snow is forcing her to do are never very far from the surface. I need to give her the space she needs to deal with these inner demons, and let her come to me when she's ready...or if she needs my help with her demons.

Then there's Haymitch. At some point Katniss and I both need to confront him. But the time has to be right. It won't do us any good if Katniss and I charge over to Haymitch's place with anger in our hearts and emotions running high. No, we need to confront him calmly and rationally. We haven't done it yet...but we will.

I hadn't seen any trace of Katniss today. I don't think that she's left her house yet today...but snow has been falling off and on since yesterday evening; so fresh footprints would be quickly covered. I hope she is home...perhaps today Katniss and I will be able to have our "talk" with Haymitch.

A pair of high-speed hovercraft flashing over the district interrupts my thoughts. Normally quiet, the brace of hovercraft roars overhead, causing me to put down my paintbrush and step outside, just in time to see the pair of hovercraft disappear from sight, only to circle around and approach at a more stately rate, slowing and finally slipping into a hover somewhere near the Meadow.

Absently, I wipe my hands with a paint-stained towel as another hovercraft...this one much larger than the two that continue to hover over the district...appears, moving slowly and deliberately toward the Meadow. It's then that I realize with a shock that it intends to  _land_  there.

I'm aware that others have joined me. Haymitch and Hazelle Hawthorne, along with Sae and Mrs. Everdeen, have emerged as well, curious as to the noise created by the pair of hovering machines. Haymitch in particular seems to be perturbed by their appearance.

"This ain't good," he mutters. "See those two? Look under their wings." I peer at the two hovercrafts, noticing odd shaped bulges that mar the sleek aerodynamic cut of the machines.

"Weapons pods and gun mounts," Haymitch continues. "Those are  _fighters_...or, more precisely, fighter-bombers." He shakes his head. "This ain't good  _at all_."

"I didn't know the Capitol had any hovercraft with guns on them," I say.

"Well, they do," Haymitch replies grimly. "And you never see 'em...unless they're escortin' someone pretty fuckin' important."

Mrs. Everdeen glances over at Haymitch in alarm. "You don't mean...Snow?"

Haymitch nods. "Who else?" He glances over at Mrs. Everdeen. "Where's Katniss?"

"In Town," Mrs. Everdeen replies absently. "She walked Prim to school this morning and said that she had some things to pick up at the grocer's and at the butcher's."

Haymitch seems to ponder this. "Okay. He'll buy that." He turns to Hazelle and Sae. "It might be best if you two brewed up some tea and got some plates of, I don't know, cookies or pastries or something." He then turns to Mrs. Everdeen. "You too, Una. We don't want to appear inhospitable to the President," he adds bitterly.

"What do you think he wants?" I ask, feeling my stomach churn with anxiety.

"I dunno, boy," Haymitch grumbles as he turns to leave, "But you can bet it ain't good."

* * *

We have our answer twenty minutes later.

I first hear the roar of heavy-duty vehicle engines entering Victors' Village. I risk a quick glance outside and watch as several Peacekeepers armored trucks drive slowly through the Village. A truck stops in front of Katniss's house and, as I watch, one stops in front of mine.

 _Showtime,_  I say to myself as I answer a firm knock on my door, only to find Darius standing on the other side.

He gives me a small, reassuring smile as he announces, "Good day, Citizen Mellark. Your presence is immediately requested in the Green."

"Of course," I reply smoothly, grabbing my coat off of the coat rack near the door. I shrug it on as I step outside.

"It's okay," Darius whispers hurriedly. "You aren't in any trouble that I know of. President Snow has decided to pay District Twelve a visit."

"We figured," I reply just as softly. "We saw the hovercraft. Darius...Katniss isn't home."

"She is now," he grins. "We came across her walking back to the Village from Town and gave her a ride. She was pretty well loaded down...I don't think she minded the lift at all. Even if it was from a bunch of Peacekeepers."

Darius stops talking as we approach the Green, still mostly covered with patches of snow and ice. I see Katniss has already arrived, along with Haymitch. I catch Katniss's eye and manage to give her a quick smile and a wink. She flashes a very brief grin in response, but I know the look in her eyes.

Katniss is terrified.

For that matter, I am as well...in spite of Darius's reassurances that I wasn't in trouble.  _Does Snow know? Did he find out somehow?_

The sound of an approaching vehicle engine interrupts my thoughts. A large, black car enters the Village and makes its slow, deliberate way to where we were all standing. There's no doubt at all who the passenger is in that shining black limousine.

The limousine stops near the spot where we are all standing. I feel my heart begin to pound in my chest as a large, hulking, black-clad man leaps from the passenger side of the front of the car, followed immediately by the driver, another hulking figure in black.

These two men simultaneously open the rear doors of the limousine, in a single, smooth, practiced motion.

I watch as a slight, white-haired, somewhat stooped man emerges from the near side of the car, straightening up slowly as he turns his head, surveying his surroundings before his eyes fix on Haymitch, Katniss and I. President Coriolanus Snow smiles when he sees us, his puffy lips stretching over his teeth unpleasantly. However, he makes no move to approach us, until the other passenger joins him.

I notice with shock that the other passenger is a slim young girl, dressed warmly for her visit to District Twelve, with her long, light brown hair done in a single, heavy braid that hangs casually over one shoulder. The braid is exactly like how Katniss does her hair and I realize with some amusement that Katniss must have inspired the way this girl styles her hair.

President Snow places an arm protectively around her shoulders and the pair slowly walk to where the three of us...no, four, I realize, as I see Mrs. Everdeen standing slightly behind and to the right of Katniss...are standing, waiting for him. As they draw near I realize that the girl with Snow is actually quite pretty, with an open, friendly face. I find myself wondering exactly who she is.

Snow stops a few paces from us as his bodyguards take up flanking positions to either side of the unusual couple. "Miss Everdeen," Snow says in his deep, well-modulated voice. "Mr. Mellark. Mr. Abernathy. Mrs. Everdeen as well? Delightful!" He turns toward the girl at his side, his gaze softening just a bit. "I present to you Miss Andromeda Snow."

"My granddaughter."

* * *

I'm speechless.

And I know I'm not alone. Haymitch, Katniss, and Mrs. Everdeen are all standing in shocked silence at President Snow's introduction of the girl as his granddaughter. And the girl herself was wide-eyed, her gaze darting between Katniss and I.  _It's us_ , I realize.  _Katniss and I. Our fame. This girl, whose grandfather is the single most powerful man in Panem, is star-struck._

Star-struck or not, it's the girl that speaks first. "Where's Primrose Everdeen?" She asks peevishly. "I thought Primrose would be here too!"

"She's in school," Mrs. Everdeen replies gently.

"Oh," the girl says, disappointment etched on her face. She turns to President Snow. "Grandpa, can you get Primrose out of school for the day? I so wanted to meet her as well!"

"Remember what we talked about before we left, my dear," Snow says gently. "Taking young Miss Everdeen out of school would cause an unnecessary disruption." Snow turns to us. "Andromeda just celebrated her fourteenth birthday, and I promised her a trip to District Twelve to meet her favorite Victors." Snow smiles down at the girl. "I do tend to indulge her a bit."

"Oh, Grandpa," Andromeda says in exasperation. "He means that I'm spoiled," she says, addressing us. "But I'm not." The girl turns back toward Snow. "Grandpa, what  _is_  that smell?" She asks as she wrinkles her nose.

I quickly glance at Katniss and see her almost imperceptibly roll her eyes. "That's how the district always smells. It comes from the mines." Katniss pauses for a moment. "You get used to it after a while."

"Dear," Snow interjects, "why don't you run along with Miss Everdeen for now? I promise you'll have plenty of time with Mr. Mellark later on. Go on, now...I have something to discuss with Mr. Mellark."

I feel a chill run up my spine when Snow mentions that he wants to talk to me. Andromeda looks up at Snow, smiles, and says, "Yes, Grandpa," before skipping off with Katniss and Mrs. Everdeen. One of Snow's bodyguards moves to follow the trio as they walk to Katniss's house, only to be stopped by a single, quiet word from Snow.

"Casca," Snow murmurs. The man stops and turns back toward Snow. "You and Spartacus remain here with the car. No need to trail Andromeda...or me, for that matter. The perimeter is secure."

The man...Casca, Snow had called him...almost seems inclined to argue. Almost. Instead, he says meekly, "Yes, sir."

"Fine!" Snow says, rubbing his hands together. "Then it's settled." He turns to me. "Lead on, Mr. Mellark!"

I sigh inwardly, dreading the conversation that I'm sure I'm about to have with Coriolanus Snow.

**PART III**

President Snow is standing in my living room, examining the portrait that I've chosen to hang over my fireplace. It shows a scene of the Reaping, almost two years ago, with Katniss and Gale standing on the stage, looking out over the crowd, quiet dignity emanating from them both, as I sit in Haymitch's vacated chair, a look of shock still on my face, as I watch the Reaping coming to a close.

It's the only portrait that I've done where I included myself.

Snow takes a careful sip of his tea, nods approvingly, and carefully sets the cup and saucer on a small table. "Extraordinary work," he murmurs, indicating the portrait. "It captures the drama of the Reaping perfectly."

"That's not why I painted it, sir," I reply respectfully, only too aware of how carefully I must tread around this man.

Snow turns toward me. In the close confines of my living room, the smell of roses and blood is nearly overpowering. "Oh? So tell me, Mr. Mellark...why did you choose  _this_  particular subject?"

"It's the day that my life changed forever," I reply quietly.

Snow nods thoughtfully. "Yes," he says, his voice sounding distant. "Everyone in Panem has, or will have, a life-changing day such as this one. Do you know what mine was, Mr. Mellark?"

Confused, I shake my head. "No, sir."

Snow gestures for me to sit. I settle into the chair that he indicates, while he chooses my favorite easy chair to sink into. "I don't remember mine," Snow continues. "I was barely a toddler then. It was the day my parents were killed...during the Dark Days."

I say nothing as Snow continues to talk. "I lost roughly half my family during the Dark Days. If not for the fact that my family was well connected politically, and that I had relatives willing to take me in, chances are that I would have ended up as just another war refugee." Snow picks up his teacup and takes another sip. "Marvelous tea. My compliments to your housekeeper."

"Thank you, sir," I murmur. "I'll be sure to let her know."

Snow turns back toward the portrait. "I noticed that your family bakery is included in the background of your portrait."

"Yes, sir," I reply. "It was located in the Square, near where the Reaping Stage is erected every year."

"And that brings me to my next topic," Snow says smoothly. "Your family bakery. I plan on rebuilding it."

I can only stare in amazement at Snow as this latest revelation sinks in. "Sir?"

"Mr. Mellark, let's clear the air," Snow continues. "If you will be completely honest with me, I will extend the same courtesy to you. Do we have a deal?"

I can only nod. "Yes, sir."

Snow smiles, his puffy lips stretching over his teeth. "Good. I despise liars, and, in spite of my chosen profession, I can't stand politics. Now, back to your family bakery...and the tragic accident that befell the original structure."

"Accident," I mutter.

"Mr. Mellark, I only kill when I have to," Snow says. "Your father and brother were worth far more to me alive than dead." Snow didn't have to explain what he means by this.

"Yet, they died," I say firmly, willing myself not to get emotional. "They died, and they both could have been saved."

Snow nods solemnly. "Yes, they both could have survived. The fact that they weren't included in your medical hovercraft flight has caused me a great deal of distress. A problem since rectified."

_Rectified. Whoever dropped the ball on that was probably summarily executed._

I don't say what I'm thinking. Instead, I murmur, "I'm glad to hear that, sir."

President Snow looks at me sharply, and for a moment I feel a cold knot of fear deep down inside...fear that he's seen through me and can actually tell what I'm thinking. "Mr. Mellark," he continues, "I had Commander Thread conduct an exhaustive investigation into the accident...and it  _was_  an accident. A faulty valve on an obsolete heating unit is the culprit." Snow pauses for a moment, his gaze turning thoughtful. "Rebuilding your families' bakery is a small token of my appreciation."

"I don't understand, sir," I reply in confusion. "Appreciation for what?"

"Your obedience," Snow explains. "Over six months ago I instructed you to stay away from Katniss Everdeen. Not an easy task for you, considering the passion that you included in your letter to her on the eve of your Games...but one that you have discharged admirably, in spite of a few barely mentionable indiscretions."

 _Does he know?_  I feel that knot of fear return, and just as quickly disappear.  _No, of course not. We wouldn't be having this conversation if he_ did _know._

"Thank you, sir," I say, hoping that I add just the right amount of humility. "I'm sure my mother and my brother Alec will appreciate being able to continue the family business."

"Of course," Snow adds slyly, "My largesse does come with a price."

I knew it. "What price, sir?"

"Your cooperation and support," Snow replies. "Yours, and Katniss Everdeen's."

"I don't understand, sir," I stammer. "Support for what?"

"Whether or not you're aware of it, you and Miss Everdeen are the two most popular Victors in the history of the Games. " Snow almost sounds as though he's giving a school lesson...but here of course the stakes are much higher. "There's unrest in the districts. If you and Miss Everdeen deliver some carefully worded statements, we can extinguish the spark of discontent before it has a chance to spread into a fire."

"What kind of statements?" I ask.

"No need to concern yourself with content," Snow replies. "As long as the message calms the districts down."

Snow's unspoken meaning hits me like a shot. It's propaganda, pure and simple...with Katniss and I as the stars.  _If we do these, he truly will own us. Our faces...our words...will forever be associated with the name...the face...of Coriolanus Snow._

I shudder inwardly. Snow is dangling the promise of a rebuilt bakery in front of me in return for my cooperation. But, he's said nothing about offering Katniss anything in return for  _her_  cooperation. I take a deep breath. Time to negotiate with a man that can order my death with a single word.

"You have my cooperation, sir," I say carefully. "But I can't speak for Katniss, though. Perhaps...perhaps you could offer her something as a reward for her cooperation as well."

Snow's eyes narrow and his lips compress into a grim line. "My boy, I believe you over-estimate your importance. Do you presume to bargain with  _me_?"

 _Isn't that just what you did with me?_  I keep my thoughts to myself. "No, sir," I reply hastily. "It's just that Katniss has very strong convictions when it comes to repaying a debt."

"I don't understand," Snow says impatiently. "And you have just about one minute to make me understand, Mr. Mellark."

"If you were to release Katniss from your...arrangement...with her, I'm sure she would consider herself indebted to you, sir," I explain. "And that would go a long way to ensure her cooperation and support. Her appeals to restore peace and order in the districts would be genuine, instead of forced."

Snow rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Miss Everdeen has proven to be one of the most popular...commodities...that I've been able to offer since Finnick Odair." He glances up at me, his eyes narrowing again. "Mr. Mellark, I could simply order you and Miss Everdeen to cooperate, and you would have no choice but to comply."

"Yes, sir," I agree. "You could. But Katniss wouldn't be convincing if she has to be coerced."

"I disagree," Snow replies flatly. "She has far too much to lose if she fails."

"President Snow," I say earnestly, "I believe that you have so much more to gain with her success...gained through willing cooperation...than she has to lose through her failing because she was forced."

Snow fixes me with his penetrating gaze. "And you will guarantee her cooperation if I should present her with this offer?"

I shake my head. "Only Katniss can do that, sir. I can't speak for her...only for me. And I've already promised my cooperation to you."

Snow is silent for a moment as he mulls over my proposal. "Very well," he mutters gruffly. "I will offer her a release from our arrangement... _if_  she cooperates willingly, and  _if_  her words are effective in quelling the swell of civil disobedience in the districts." He pauses and looks at me pointedly. "The same applies to you, Mr. Mellark. Your family bakery will be rebuilt  _if_  you are effective, and only when I have measurable proof of the effectiveness of your words."

I nod meekly. "I'll do my very best, sir."

Snow's puffy lips curl upwards in an unpleasant smile. "I'm sure you both will, Mr. Mellark. For if you fail, your brother will be required to spend the remainder of his life dealing with corpses...and, if Miss Everdeen fails, not only will she be required to continue to perform her duties commensurate with our previous...arrangement...but I'm afraid that I will be forced to disappoint Andromeda."

I feel a chill run up my spine at his words. "Yes, sir. But I don't understand how Andromeda would be disappointed."

"Andromeda wants to meet Primrose Everdeen so very badly," Snow explains. "Miss Everdeen's failure would force me to explain to Andromeda that Primrose has instead become a client of your brother. That would sorely disappoint her." Snow pauses for a moment and his voice takes on an icy tone.

"And I  _detest_  having to disappoint Andromeda in any way."

Snow's meaning is clear. I just hope that I didn't make things worse for both Katniss and I.

* * *

"Have you had a pleasant visit with Miss Everdeen, Andromeda?" President Snow asks his granddaughter.

"It's been wonderful, Grandpa!" Andromeda Snow gushes. "She even...she even showed me her Games bow...and she let me _touch_ it!"

"Did she, now?" Snow replies with a laugh. For an instant...for one, brief, hiccup in time...Coriolanus Snow was not a tyrant, or a dictator with the blood of countless innocents on his hands. No, in that instant all I see is a doting grandfather delighting in his granddaughter's excitement. That image fades quickly as I remember our conversation.

"I thought perhaps Meda would enjoy a demonstration," Katniss says quietly.

I glance at her sharply.  _Meda?_  Is she forgetting that this little girl is the granddaughter of the most powerful...and, by extension, the most dangerous...man in Panem?

"An archery display?" Snow asks with a smile. "How delightful! Here, in the Village?"

"I don't know if it will be all that impressive," Katniss says modestly. "I'm out of practice."

"I'd love to see, Katniss," Andromeda pleads. "Please say you will!"

Katniss nods slowly. "Okay," she finally says, scanning the Green. She points at a large white oak growing at the far end of the Village. "That tree will be the target."

Katniss returns to her house to retrieve her bow and the handful of arrows that she's kept. When she emerges carrying the bow and arrows I see Snow's bodyguards, Casca and Spartacus, discreetly positioning themselves in such a way as to literally be able to shield Snow with their own bodies if need be.

 _What a shame,_  I say to myself.  _One arrow, and Snow's reign of terror over Panem would be over._  But, even if Katniss had similar thoughts, I knew that I couldn't let her go through with it. Katniss would be dead seconds after Snow, riddled with the bullets from his bodyguards' guns.  _No. I just found you. I won't lose you to something so unnecessary. Snow needs to die, but losing you would be too great a price to pay._

I was worrying needlessly. Katniss was totally ignoring Snow as she concentrates her focus on her target...the trunk of the large white oak growing at the far end of the Village Green. She turns and beckons Andromeda to join her. When the younger girl steps to her side, Katniss hands her all but a single arrow.

"Can you hold these for me?" Katniss asks.

Andromeda looks ecstatic. The legendary Katniss Everdeen is asking for  _her_  help! "Yes," she says breathlessly.

Katniss offers the girl a quick smile of thanks, then nocks an arrow, draws the bowstring back, aims, and lets fly.

 _Thunk._  The arrow sinks into the truck of the white oak. Katniss quickly reloads and shoots again.  _Thunk._  The second arrow strikes home, a handbreadth from the first. Again Katniss loads and fires.  _Thunk._  The third arrow strikes between the first two, and just slightly below.

"And that's  _out of practice_?" I mutter. I've never really seen Katniss shoot before today. "That was incredible!"

I can see Katniss flush with pleasure at my compliment as she turns and flashes me a brief smile. Even Snow is applauding politely at Katniss's display of skill.

"One arrow left, Katniss," Andromeda says, holding the arrow out. "You should make your last shot a hard one."

A  _hard_  one? Katniss just put three arrows into a space that you could cover with the palm of your hand into the trunk of a tree twenty paces away. I can only shake my head in disbelief.

Katniss, however, takes it in stride. She takes the last arrow, nocks it, peers intently at the tree, and then, shifting her aim slightly upwards, lets the last arrow fly. I don't even have time to wonder what Katniss is shooting at as the arrow disappears into the branches, and, as we all watch, a small, furry body tumbles out of the tree, landing lifelessly in the snow at the base, Katniss's last arrow jutting skyward from the grayish body.

We all move forward and soon I can identify the target as a squirrel. The sight of the small animal lying in the snow with Katniss's arrow buried in its neck brings back a flood of memories...Katniss and Gale appearing at the back door of the bakery, my father willingly buying their offerings...sometimes in coin, sometimes in bread...and Katniss giving Poppa a shy smile and a murmured thanks.

That was less than two years ago. It feels like a million.

I blink back my tears as I bend down and scoop up Katniss's kill. I can now see that the arrow has penetrated all the way through the squirrel's neck. "Here," I say, handing it to her. "A neck shot."

"Told you I was out of practice," Katniss mutters as she takes the squirrel. We both know what she means. A neck shot means wasted meat. Katniss would usually get them right through the eye.

"Most impressive, Miss Everdeen," Snow exclaims. It's then that I notice Andromeda staring, wide-eyed, at the dead squirrel.

"Did you have to  _kill_  it?" Andromeda asks softly.

"He won't go to waste, Meda," Katniss replies as she hands the squirrel back to me. "Will he, Peeta?"

"I'm sure Sae will put him to good use," I reply with a smile as I take the squirrel, the arrow still protruding from its neck.

Andromeda listens to our exchange, her eyes darting from Katniss to me as understanding dawns. "Wait a minute! Are you talking about... _eating_  it?"

"I admit, he's not much," Katniss says. "Barely enough for one. But his meat will add a nice flavor to a soup or stew."

Andromeda looks slightly ill. "It...it's a furry rat," she says faintly. "Do people here actually  _eat_  those?"

"Yes," Katniss says patiently. " _We_ do. Or did, anyway. Rat, too, when we could catch them."

I glance uneasily at President Snow, who's standing quietly, his eyes narrowed, his lips compressed into a tight, white line.  _You brought Andromeda here to meet her two favorite Victors as a birthday present,_  I say to myself,  _and she's getting a lesson on the realities of life in District Twelve...whether you want her to or not._

"I don't understand," Andromeda says. "You're a  _Victor_. You're rich! You don't have to eat such things!"

"Not anymore," Katniss admits. "But I used to. Before I won my Games."

"Many people here are very poor, Andromeda," I explain. "They eat what they can."

Andromeda looks thoughtful. Snow uses this opportunity to say, "My dear, perhaps you would like to spend a little time with Mr. Mellark. I have a few things to discuss with Miss Everdeen."

Katniss gives me a sharp glance. I catch her eye and shake my head almost imperceptibly. But Katniss's meeting with Snow will have to wait a little longer, for Andromeda has more questions.

"No, Grandpa," Andromeda says firmly. "You told me I could ask them anything I wanted. You also said that today was  _my_  day."

Coriolanus Snow...the most powerful, feared man in Panem...has been thoroughly cowed by a fourteen-year-old girl. If the stakes weren't so horrifically high, it would actually be funny. I do notice, however, that no one is smiling.

"I did say that, didn't I?" Snow sighs. "Very well, Andromeda." Snow turns to his bodyguards. "Cut Miss Everdeen's arrows from the tree and return them to her," he orders, even as Andromeda turns back towards Katniss.

"After we landed here," Andromeda says, "we drove past a bunch of shacks that look like they will fall down any second. And I saw people in those shacks. Is that what you mean by poor, Peeta?"

"That's what he meant," Katniss says quickly. "And, those shacks that you drove by? That area is called the Seam. It's short for coal seam. It's the poorest area in District Twelve." Katniss pauses for a moment and takes a deep breath. "It's where I grew up."

Andromeda looks at Katniss in amazement. "You...you... _lived_  there?"

Katniss nods. "Until I became a Victor. And, if something should happen to me, my mother and my sister Prim would have to move back there."

Andromeda actually looks ill at this revelation. "I...I don't have any more questions, Grandpa," she says softly.

"In that case, my dear, why don't you run along with Mr. Mellark," Snow says quickly as he turns to Katniss. "Miss Everdeen? I promise that this won't take very long."

"Andromeda," I say, as I watch Katniss and Snow walk off toward her house, "would you like to see my studio?"

Andromeda's face, which had taken on a somber cast, suddenly lights up in a smile. "Yes! I've seen your portraits in galleries in the Capitol. I would love to see what you're working on now!"

"Come along, then," I say with a smile. Inwardly, though, I just hope that Katniss agrees to the proposal that Snow is about to give her...and I hope that she forgives me for negotiating on her behalf.

**PART IV**

"These are incredible!"

Andromeda...or, "Meda," as she insists that I call her ("My friends call me Meda. People that 'think' they're my friends call me 'Andie.' I  _hate_  Andie!"), is examining some of my work. Of course, most of my subjects are Katniss...but I have Prim, my father, my brother Quinn, and even Buttercup the cat mixed in.

We had stopped in the kitchen before heading upstairs. Meda was very gracious and polite when introduced to Greasy Sae, and seemed fascinated when I told her that Sae was going to clean the squirrel and add it to the soup stock that she was making. She did, however, politely decline Sae's invitation to help clean the squirrel.

Now, as she examines my paintings and sketches, she suddenly turns to me, a shy smile crossing her face. "Peeta," she says, a hint of pleading in her voice, "could you maybe paint  _me_?"

The question takes me by surprise. "Uhhh...it take a while to paint a good portrait, Meda," I reply. "And I doubt if you'll be here long enough for me to finish it. But...I could probably sketch you today and work off of that..."

"Oh, would you?" Meda practically squeals. "That would be so wonderful! And my friends would be  _so_  jealous!"

I sigh. There's no getting around it. I have to make this girl happy, or she'll tell her grandfather...and if  _she's_  not happy,  _President Snow_  won't be happy.

"Okay," I say, moving a stool toward the far wall. "I need you to sit on this and be still while I sketch." Meda dutifully props herself on the stool and allows me to position her just right before I return to my easel, clamp down a clean sheet of paper, and quickly sharpen a handful of pencils.

I begin to draw. Meda is an easy subject. "Is it okay if I talk?" she asks.

I nod. "Sure. I'll tell you when I'm drawing your mouth."

"Okay." Meda pauses for a moment. "Do you come from that Seam place too?"

I shake my head. "No. I was born in town. My family owns...owned...the bakery."

"That's right," Meda replies. "I remember seeing something about that on the Holo. There was a fire."

"Yes," I say tightly. "There was. My father and my brother were...they didn't make it."

"I heard," Meda says softly. "I'm sorry." I nod, not trusting myself to speak for a moment, and keep working.

"You must like Katniss a lot," Meda continues. "You paint her a lot."

"Yeah," I admit. "I do."

"Does she like you, too?" Meda blurts.

 _Where is she going with this?_  "We've become...friends," I reply cautiously.

"I heard she was really mad at you," Meda continues. "Something about you and that woman on the Holo. Cressida."

"Friends can get mad at one another," I say. "Katniss and I...we've...worked things out."

"Oh," Meda says quietly. I glance sharply at her.  _She actually sounds disappointed._

"I've met a lot of Victors," Meda continues. "Finnick, Gloss, Cashmere, Beetee, Brutus, even old Mags and Enobaria." I see Meda actually shudder as she mentions Enobaria. "She was scary. But Katniss was my favorite."

"'Was?'" I ask, as I continue to sketch.

"Yes," Meda says shyly. "Until the Quell. Until you."

Shit. I glance up at Meda's face.  _How could I have missed this until now?_  I completely recognize what I see in the girls face. The look in her eyes, the slight flush on her throat, even the way she nervously licks her lips. The look is unmistakable. I've seen it hundreds of times myself...in the mirror.

Andromeda Snow has a crush.

On me.

* * *

"So I'm your favorite?" I ask lightly. "I'm flattered!"

"Yes," Meda says seriously. "It was so awful when I saw on the Holo that you lost your leg."

"Uhh...well, thank you, Meda," I stammer. "My new leg works really well, though. It only hurts sometimes."

"I wish I could make the hurt go away," she replies softly.

"It doesn't hurt right now," I say quickly. "Okay, I need you to be quiet now while I sketch your mouth."

Meda nods. I sketch quickly, wanting nothing more at that time but to get this girl out of my house as rapidly as possible.

"Okay," I say finally, stepping back. "Done."

"May I see?" Meda asks. I nod as she slides off the stool and walks over to the easel.

"That's really good," Meda says breathlessly. "And you can make a portrait out of this?"

"Yes," I reply. "I'll even personalize it to you and send it to you in the Capitol."

"Or maybe you can deliver it in person," Meda says softly. "I wanted to meet you on your Tour...but Grandpa says that I had to be at least fourteen to go to the Presidential Reception."

"You'll be able to go to the next one, then," I say nervously.

"It won't be the same," Meda continues quietly, "unless you Mentor another District Twelve Victor."

"I'll certainly do my best," I reply, uncomfortably aware that Meda is edging closer to me.

Suddenly, she stops at looks me in the eye. "Do you think I'm pretty?"

"Uhhh...of course I do, Meda," I stammer. It was the truth, too. Andromeda Snow  _is_  a very pretty girl. Many Capitol girls already have tattoos and body piercings at her age. All I can see on her are numerous ear piercings and a small, solitary diamond stud on her nose.

"Do you?" Meda breathes softly, edging closer to me.

Sae's voice calls out from downstairs before I can answer. "Peeta? There's a man at the door for Miss Snow."

"Be right down!" I call out quickly in response. I turn back to Meda. "Looks like they're here for you."

"I heard," Meda says, sighing in disgust. "Will you let me know when my portrait is finished?"

"I promise," I say earnestly as I usher her out of my studio and back down the stairs. There, I see Casca, one of Snow's bodyguards, waiting patiently.

"It's getting late, Miss Snow," Casca says. "President Snow asked me to fetch you and Mr. Mellark for photos before you have to leave."

"Very well," Meda says. She turns to me. "Grandpa's photographer will be taking some pictures of us together. But the one that you are painting for me will be so much better."

I smile uncomfortably. "Let's not keep the President waiting, then."

* * *

"Your indulgence of my granddaughter's wishes is appreciated," Snow is saying. He pauses before climbing into the car. "One more thing. Mr. Mellark, it occurs to me that you and Miss Everdeen will not be able to effectively discharge your duties under my previous directive. Consider it revoked effective immediately."

"Thank you, sir," I manage to say, even as the car door closes firmly. Katniss, Haymitch and I watch as the car turns around slowly. As it does, one of the back windows rolls down and Meda sticks her arm out, waving enthusiastically.

"'Bye, Katniss! 'Bye, Peeta! I'll be waiting for my portrait!"

We all wave in return and remain outside until the caravan disappears from view. Only then does Katniss turn to me, a strange little smile on her face.

"'Portrait?'" She asks archly.

"Uhhh...I told Meda that I would paint her. A portrait of her, I mean." I stammer.

"Uh huh," Katniss mutters. "And don't think I didn't notice how she was looking at you, either."

"Okay," I admit, my cheeks reddening. "She's got a crush on me, okay? But I didn't encourage it, and she  _is_  the President's granddaughter...I can't just brush her off. Besides...she is a nice kid."

Katniss sighs. "Yeah. She is.  _I_  even like her, in spite of her being Capitol, and Snow's granddaughter." Katniss pauses for a moment. "By the way...thank you. Snow let slip that you negotiated with him...and what your terms were. I...can live with that. So...thank you, Peeta..."

That's as far as Katniss gets before she collapses into my arms, burying her face in my chest and sobbing.

"What's going on?" Haymitch demands. "What 'negotiation?' What 'terms?' Just what the hell did you two agree to do for Snow?"

"What we have to do to keep the people we care about alive," I reply tersely, as I quickly explain to Haymitch what Snow wants us to do...and what terms I negotiated with him in order to get our earnest cooperation.

"Shit," Haymitch says when I finish. "Boy, you may have just fucked away any credibility that you may have by that idiotic agreement!"

"Who are  _you_ , to talk about 'credibility,' you son of a bitch?" Katniss explodes. "You outright  _lied_  to both Peeta and I about each other! You had us believing awful things about the other! Explain  _that_ , you asshole!"

"That was...that was for your own good, Sweetheart," Haymitch stammers weakly. "Otherwise Lover-boy here woulda been sniffin' around you in direct defiance of Snow's orders! I had to do  _somethin'_  t' keep him away!"

"So you lied," I say coldly.

"Yeah," Haymitch replies. "I lied. And now, thanks to this...'agreement'...that you two have with Snow to be his mouthpieces and try to quell unrest...well, there's no telling what kinda damage that'll do."

"Do to what?" Katniss demands. "Start making sense!"

"You two need to realize that there are things goin' on that are bigger, and more important, than both of you. Than all of us...me included." Haymitch looks grim. "And you sell yourselves to him for what? A new bakery? The promise that he'll stop sellin' you to the highest bidder, Sweetheart?"

"That's what he promised," I say, suddenly unsure of myself. What guarantees do we have that Snow will actually keep his word?

"It's worth it," Katniss says firmly. "If I never, ever, have to do...that...again."

"Alright," Haymitch continues. "Let me ask you both somethin'. What if you fail?"

"We won't," Katniss says. "We can't."

Haymitch shakes his head in disgust. "You two...y'know, for pretty smart kids, you two can be so stupid at times. Who decides if your little propaganda pieces are effective or not? Snow?"

"I...I don't know," I admit.

"Snow decides," Haymitch says confidently. "And he decides if you fail."

"I told him I would convince him," Katniss says weakly. "He said, 'Don't convince  _me_ , Miss Everdeen. Convince  _them_.'"

"And if you don't?" Haymitch asks gently.

Katniss and I can only look at each other in horror as the full impact hits us. "I'll tell you what happens. No new bakery. Peeta...the rest of your family...dead. Sweetheart, you go right back onto the auction block, and, if you're lucky, he'll only kill your mother. And you two can go right back to wistfully staring at each other every night from across the Green...because he'll damn sure slam that 'stay away' order back down on you both."

"I just made things worse," I whisper miserably.

"Look, kid," Haymitch continues, "Snow had you from the get-go. He woulda made you both do it anyway, but he tossed you both a bone for your willing and enthusiastic cooperation. But he'll win in the end. He almost always does."

Katniss looks at Haymitch sharply. "'Almost?'"

Haymitch glances around. We're still in the middle of the Green. A light snow begins to fall. "We can talk here. We're far enough from any house." He looks at us both intensely. "Look. I'm not asking for your trust. I just need to know somethin'."

"What" I ask.

"Are you two happy with the way things are?" Haymitch asks.

"What kind of stupid question is  _that_?" Katniss asks. "Of course we aren't!"

Haymitch turns to me. "And you, boy? Are you findin' this 'Victor life' everything you expected?"

"You know I'm not!" I reply.

"And what would you be willin' to do to change things?" Haymitch asks us both.

"What are you getting at?" Katniss asks irritably.

"I'm part of somethin'," Haymitch explains. "Somethin' big. Bigger than me...bigger than you. The rewards are  _huge_...no more Hunger Games, no more dictatorship. But the price for failure is just as huge. All of us...including your families...dead."

"Are you talking about an  _uprising_?" Katniss says in amazement.

Haymitch shakes his head. "No. Something bigger."

Realization dawns on me. "You mean..."

Haymitch nods grimly. "Yeah. Rebellion. Outright war."

Katniss straightens up, a determined look on her face. "Count me in."

"Me too," I add immediately.

Haymitch smiles grimly and extends his hand. "I was hopin' you would both say that."

Katniss lays her hand on top of Haymitch's. I place my hand on top of Katniss's. "On one condition," Katniss says.

"I'm afraid to ask, but...what?" Haymitch asks.

"No more lies," Katniss says. "And no holding anything back from us. Deal?"

"Deal," Haymitch says firmly.

"It better be," Katniss replies, smiling sweetly...but there's cold steel in the glint in her eyes.

**PART V**

I'm finally drifting off to sleep, my mind shutting off at last from the events of today, when I hear a soft knocking on my front door.

I pull myself up, thankful that tonight I wore my prosthesis to bed, and shrug on a robe.  _It's Haymitch. Forgot to tell me something earlier and wants to have a late-night conversation on the Green._

I stumble downstairs and, as I fumble with the lock, mutter, "This better be important, Haymitch -"

But, as I open the door, I can see that it's most  _definitely_  not Haymitch Abernathy.

"Expecting someone else?" Katniss asks innocently as she stands, shivering slightly, clad in a long robe.

"Katniss! What..." I grab her arm and pull her in to the house, shutting the door firmly behind her. As I turn back to her she wordlessly steps forward, pressing her body against me, and immediately finds my lips with her own.

My arms go around her slim frame and hold her close as we kiss deeply, our tongues wrapping sensuously around each other. Finally, we break our kiss, as Katniss gazes up at me, a little smile on her face.

"I figured," she begins, "being as we can now officially see each other...I figured that we shouldn't waste any time."

I can feel my body respond to the pressure of her body against mine. The memory of our one afternoon together floods my mind...as does her reaction at the end. "Are...are you sure?" I ask.

Katniss nods, blushing, and drops her eyes from mine. "Yes," she whispers. "Peeta...I can't promise that what happened before...won't happen again. The memories are just too strong. But...if it does...it doesn't mean that I don't love you. And I do love you."

"I love you," I whisper.

"One more thing," she adds. "Leave your door unlocked at night. Or give me a key. It would be...easier...don't you think?"

"Yeah," I reply huskily. I rub my hands down her back. "You're so cold."

Katniss looks back up at me. "Would you like to warm me up?"

In response, I easily pick her up in my arms, causing a very un-Katniss-like giggle to emanate from her mouth.

"Gladly," I say with a smile, as I begin to slowly, carefully, ascend my stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to take this opportunity to thank Tom for his insight and thoughtful suggestions for this chapter.


	25. CHAPTER 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Tom, without whose suggestions this chapter would have ended up looking completely different (and not nearly as good!)

**BOOK IX - ABSOLUTION**

**Absolution - Formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment**

**CHAPTER 25**

**PART I**

"Absolutely not. Out of the fucking question."

Katniss and I are at Haymitch's on a video conference call with Assistant Head Gamemaker Plutarch Heavensbee, who has just announced the video crew that has been assigned to record what Heavensbee refers to as "Peace Propos"...his pet name for the pro-Capitol peace messages that Katniss and I are to record for broadcast all throughout Panem, but especially in the handful of "trouble" districts...most notably Seven, Eight, Nine, and Eleven. As it turns out, Katniss and I are very well acquainted with the Resident Director chosen to head this project.

Her name is Cressida.

Katniss's reaction is predictable. Her lips are set in a grim, bloodless, angry line. And, in spite of Katniss's obvious fury, to his credit Plutarch Heavensbee is controlling his own emotions...but just barely.

"Miss Everdeen," Heavensbee says in a tight, controlled voice. "The decision to use Miss Pierce's talents...as well as her crew, which, by the way, are considered to be the absolute best available...has already been made by no less a personage than President Snow himself." Heavensbee pauses and offers a mirthless smile. "It may interest you to know that Miss Pierce had a reaction very similar to your own. She doesn't want to be a part of this project any more than you want her."

"So, the whore and I agree on something," Katniss snaps. "Neither of us wants to do this. And I won't as long as she's involved."

"Sweetheart," Haymitch pleads, "be reasonable. There's no way -"

"You're right!" Katniss snarls. "There is no fucking way, Haymitch!"

"Excuse me," I cut in. "Katniss, let's get some air, okay?" I look at Haymitch and Heavensbee's image on Haymitch's computer screen. "Excuse us for a moment?"

"Take your time, kid," Haymitch waves in our general direction as he pulls a flask from his coat pocket, uncaps it, and takes a deep pull.

I give Katniss a pointed look. "Katniss?" I say, indicating the door with my hand.

For a second, Katniss looks inclined to argue...but only for a second. With a huffing sigh, she spins and stalks out the door and heads for Haymitch's front door. It's all I can do to keep up.

Katniss flings the door open and steps out into the cold, drizzly rain that's been falling all day here. I follow, carefully shutting the door behind me. Once we are both outside, Katniss whirls around, arms crossed defensively over her chest, her face a dark mask of barely controlled fury.

"Well?" She asks, her very tone a challenge.

"I don't like it either," I reply simply.

"Oh?" Katniss says archly. "I would think you would be happy...no,  _ecstatic_ , at the thought of being reunited with that -"

"That's enough!" I snap. "Just stop! Right now!" I can feel my own face flushing with anger. "Katniss, what the  _fuck_  do I have to do to convince you?"

"Convince me of  _what_?" She snaps back. "Convince me of -"

"The fact that I love you," I finish. " _You_. And only you." I grab her shoulders firmly. "For over twelve years. No one else. Just you," I finish, my voice falling to a near-whisper.

Katniss looks at me, eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. "Peeta..."

I release my grip on her shoulders and pull her close to me. "Just you. Only you. It's always been only you," I murmur as I kiss the top of her head. I feel Katniss's arms slip around my waist and hold me with surprising strength.

"Peeta," she whispers again. I don't know how long we stand there like that...a minute, maybe two. Not talking, not moving...just holding each other close.

"It's Snow," I say softly, finally breaking the silence. "He...he knows. Andromeda...when they were here, she made some offhand remark about me and 'that woman from the Holo.' And if  _she_  knows, Snow  _definitely_  knows. This is deliberate. Katniss. We backed Snow into a corner when he was here, and he's not used to that. He's using Cressida to get to you... _and_ to me."

"Shit," Katniss says miserably. "When will it  _stop_?"

My thoughts turn to the Rebellion that I know almost nothing about. "Soon. Katniss, we're going to be a part of a new country. A  _free_  Panem! Katniss...Snow is doing this hoping for the exact reaction that you gave...that way he can say that  _we_  reneged on our promise...and he'll go back to the way things were...only this time, he'll punish us directly."

I didn't need to elaborate on what kind of punishment Snow would inflict upon Katniss and I. Her sister, Prim, would most certainly die. Still, Katniss remains silent.

"Look," I continue, "Heavensbee said that he's sending that assistant of his...Fulvia whatever-her-name-is...to write what they expect us to say. All we need to do is to recite the words."

"You make it sound so simple," Katniss says softly. "But it's not. Peeta, what if we  _aren't_ convincing? What if we fail?"

"We won't," I say firmly. "We won't, because we  _can't_." I slip my arm around her waist and guide her back to the house. "Come on. Let's go back inside and give Haymitch and Heavensbee the news."

Katniss doesn't resist as we re-enter the house. We find Haymitch still in the study in earnest conversation with Plutarch Heavensbee. He looks up as we enter the room, one eyebrow arching up inquisitively.

Wordlessly, Katniss and I move around until we can see the computer screen and we are sure that Heavensbee can see us. For long moments the Assistant Head Gamemaker stares at us calmly, his fleshy face impassive, until he finally speaks a single word.

"Well?"

I nudge Katniss slightly. "Fine," Katniss mutters. "Go ahead and send her."

"She'll be on the next train, along with her crew, and my assistant, Fulvia Cardew," Heavensbee replies immediately. He turns toward Haymitch. "We'll talk more tonight, Haymitch. I'll call you at six." The screen suddenly goes blank.

"G'bye to you too," Haymitch mutters. "Asshole." He turns to us. "Okay. The next train means probably the day after tomorrow. Sweetheart, you have that long to wrap your brain around the fact that you  _have_  to work with Cressida, whether you like it or not."

"Fine," Katniss mutters again.

Haymitch shakes his head. "And try to work on your vocabulary between now and then. I'm sure you'll have to say more than 'fine' on camera."

Haymitch manages to push Katniss's last button with that remark, and, as a result, was treated to about five minutes' worth of Katniss's extensive vocabulary.

**PART II**

Later that night, Katniss is snuggled close to me, damp with sweat from our exertions. Katniss raises her face toward mine and traces one slender finger along my lips. "How do you do it?"

I kiss her finger gently. "Do what?"

"Make me feel like everything will be alright," she replies softly.

I feel her shiver slightly as the cool night air washes over our damp skin. Carefully, I reach down and pull a sheet up over us. "I don't do anything special," I reply with a smile.

"You make me feel loved," Katniss whispers, "and you make me feel love...for you. It's something I never thought would ever happen." She pauses before leaning up and gently kissing me. "I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever."

I feel my heart skip a beat at her words. "Okay," I reply with a smile.

I can't see her face right at the moment, but I know that she's smiling too. "Then you'll allow it?"

"I'll allow it," I whisper.

"I love you," Katniss whispers, just before she kisses me.

"I love you," I reply just as softly once our lips part. I trace my fingertips over her face, feeling her lips curl up in a smile under my fingers. "Can I ask you a question?"

Katniss grabs my hand and gently kisses my fingers. "Sure. What is it?"

"It's silly," I admit sheepishly. "But I was curious...when did you know that you loved me?

I feel her shrug her shoulders as her fingers trail down the side of my neck and across my shoulder. "I...I'm not sure. The Reaping, maybe...when you Volunteered. I was so mad at you! Or maybe that night on the Training Center roof...that's when you told me."

"I remember," I reply softly.

"Your timing really sucks sometimes," she says. "I mean, the  _night before_?" Katniss chuckles softly as she shakes her head.

"Hey," I chide quietly. "I was desperate!"

"You snuck up on me, Peeta," Katniss whispers. "It took me a long time to feel this way about you. I spent so much time being angry with you that I guess I got the two feelings mixed up."

I pull her closer to me. "I'm glad you got those feelings straightened out."

We lay quietly for a few more minutes, until, with a sigh, Katniss gently disengages herself from me and rolls out of bed, fumbling on the floor for her clothes.

I reach out and lightly trace the outline of her spine, from the cleft of her buttocks all the way to the nape of her neck, causing her to wiggle and squirm. "Peeta, stop! That tickles!"

"Does it?" I ask teasingly. Katniss glances back at me over one bare shoulder, fighting to suppress a smile.

"You know it does," she whispers. She sighs again, deeper this time, and pulls her sweater over her head. "I don't want to leave...but I have to."

I nod. "I know." Since Snow lifted the ban on us spending time together, Katniss has made it a habit to spend just about every evening at my house...but she balks at spending the night.

"It's my mother," she explains as she pulls her pants up. "And Prim. I just feel that, if I spent the night, I would be flaunting the fact that I...that is, that we..."

"Make love?" I finish for her gently.

Katniss blushes. "Yes. That." Katniss suddenly drops her shoe. "Shit. How do they expect  _me_  to be convincing when I can't even talk to you about our...what we do...without stumbling over my words!"

I sit up, slipping an arm around her shoulders. "They won't be  _our_  words, Katniss. Fulvia will write them. We just have to say them."

Katniss shrugs. "I guess," she mutters.

I slide my arm off of Katniss's shoulder and push myself all the way out of bed, grabbing a pair of shorts and slipping them on before I pad over to my dresser. I open the top drawer and remove something before turning back to Katniss.

By this time, Katniss is completely dressed. She's watching me, a puzzled frown on her face, as I slowly walk over to her, cupping something protectively in my right hand. I reach towards her with my left hand, gently taking one of her hands in mine and pulling it to me, palm up.

"I have something that I would like to give you," I say in a near-whisper. Katniss watches, wide-eyed, as I drop the pearl into her outstretched hand. "I was waiting for the perfect time to give this to you again...until I realized just now that any time that we're alone together is the perfect time."

Katniss stares down at the pearl, wide-eyed, and then I watch as her slender fingers curl slowly, deliberately, over the small gem gleaming in the dim light...clutching the pearl firmly in her small fist.

"Are you sure?" She asks, her voice trembling. "After everything that's happened since the first time you tried to give this to me, are you really sure?"

"Yes," I reply softly. "I'm sure." I lean forward and softly kiss her.

"Oh, Peeta," Katniss breathes as she opens her hand, carefully examining the gleaming pearl. "It's beautiful." She looks up at me and says, in a soft voice, "I accept. Gladly."

I kiss her gently. Katniss sighs and leans into the kiss before abruptly pulling away. "I can't," she mutters softly. "It would be so easy to...just melt into you. But I really have to get home."

I stroke her cheek with the backs of my fingers. Katniss captures my hand in one of hers, kisses my fingers gently, and then presses the pearl back into my hand, closing my fingers over it.

"I would like for you to hang onto this for me," she explains quickly. "I...it would be safer here, with you."

"Okay," I reply with a smile. "If you ever want it, it'll be in my top drawer. I keep it in a box next to the spile and knife from my Games."

Katniss nods slightly in understanding, and then quickly kisses my cheek. "G'night, Peeta," she whispers. "You don't need to walk me out. It's too cold for you to be running around dressed like that anyway."

I pull her close to me for a quick hug. "Goodnight, Katniss."

And, just like that, she slips quietly out of my bedroom. Seconds later I hear my front door slam shut. I sit, facing my bedroom window, and watch her house until, minutes later; a light comes on in her room. Katniss sees me sitting there watching her, smiles, and makes our "I love you" gesture to me before blowing me a kiss and drawing her drapes.

I sigh, go back to bed, and hug Katniss's pillow to me, inhaling her scent until I drift off to sleep.

**PART III**

Fulvia Cardew sighs heavily, pinches the bridge of her nose, and then looks up. "One more time," she says flatly. "From the top. Miss Everdeen...please concentrate on the prompter."

"I'd like to shove that prompter up her ass," Katniss mutters softly, so only I can hear. I had to agree. Fulvia Cardew, Plutarch Heavensbee's assistant, was the single most annoying person that I've ever met. A plain woman of indeterminate age, her greatest talent seemed to be an ability to instantly irritate almost everyone.

"Alright," Fulvia says. "Places, everyone!" Places? We haven't moved from this spot for at least an hour! Fulvia turns to Cressida. "Miss Pierce?"

Cressida nods tightly and glances quickly at Castor and Pollux, who both give her a quick thumbs up signal, and then at her assistant, Messalla, who's positioned behind the prompter. "Miss Everdeen," Cressida says tonelessly. "Mr. Mellark. On my cue. Three, two, one." Cressida sharply points at Katniss and I as I begin to speak.

"Hello, Panem." I don't even need to look at the prompter any more; I've said these lines enough times. "My name is Peeta Mellark, Victor of the Third Quarter Quell, and I have a simple question for everyone watching and listening: Why can't we all just get along?"

I wince inwardly as I deliver the awkward line.  _This_  is the best that she could do? Katniss doesn't miss her cue this time. Staring straight at Pollux, she begins to speak.

"What's happening in the districts hurts everyone in Panem. Everyone. Including the children. And I believe that the children are the future...the future of a strong and stable Panem. So stop hurting yourself, and your children, and go back to work so you can help build that future. Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever."

As Katniss finishes speaking, I grasp her hand firmly in mine and we slowly raise our clasped hands over our heads in a gesture of unity. We hold that pose until Fulvia shouts, "Cut! Print it!"

Katniss and I slowly lower our arms. We've been recording this "Peace Propo" in front of the ancient white oak that Katniss had used as a target during the visit by President Snow and his granddaughter, Andromeda, all afternoon. "Finally," Katniss mutters, shooting Fulvia a dark look.

 _One positive note with Fulvia being here,_  I say to myself.  _Katniss has scarcely looked at Cressida._

Cressida has been almost icily formal to both Katniss and I since the arrival of the special train two days ago. She took great pains to address us as "Miss Everdeen" and "Mr. Mellark." That didn't prevent the flashes of pain that I could see in her eyes when she thought that I wasn't looking.

Right now, though, the only look I see on her face is all business and intense concentration as she peers at a small handheld video monitor, reviewing the latest recordings. Finally, she looks up and nods.

"Looks good," she announces. "We'll get right on editing, but we should have something suitable by, oh, say...this time tomorrow."

"Wonderful," Fulvia replies. "I'll call Plutarch immediately and let him know." She turns toward Haymitch, who has been standing off to one side, watching take after seemingly endless take. "May I use your phone, Mr. Abernathy?"

In response, Haymitch makes a grand, sweeping gesture with one arm. "I would be honored," he replies sarcastically.

Fulvia Cardew says nothing...but the stiff set of her back told us that she was not pleased at Haymitch's sarcasm.

Haymitch watches Fulvia stalk off as he joins Katniss and I. "Of all the people that they coulda tapped to head this project," he grouses, "and Plutarch sends  _her_! 'Why can't we all just get along?' 'I believe the children are the future?' Shit!"

"It was that bad?" Katniss asks dejectedly.

"Sweetheart, 'bad' would be an improvement," Haymitch replies. He looks like he's about to say more, but Messalla picks that moment to join us.

"We're all done here," he announces. "We're heading back into Town to work on editing. We'll let you know when it's ready for viewing. It'll probably be tomorrow afternoon. If everything looks good, we'll upload it to Plutarch tomorrow evening."

"Sounds good. Thank you, Messalla," I reply.

Messalla inclines his head slightly. "It's an honor to be working with you both again," he says, just before he takes his leave of us and rejoins Cressida, Castor and Pollux.

As we watch the panel truck carrying Cressida and her crew head out of the Village and back toward town, Katniss says miserably, "It's not gonna work. This video's shit. And Snow will blame  _us_."

"Katniss," I begin, "Snow knows that we are doing our best -"

"That's not  _good_  enough, Peeta!" Katniss snaps. "It's nowhere near good enough! And why we're wasting time on this shit when we should be working on the Rebellion -"

"That's enough from you, Sweetheart!" Haymitch hisses. "As far as I know, there ain't any bugs out here. As far as I  _know_. But with you practically yellin', well, who the fuck needs bugs anyway?"

Katniss whirls toward Haymitch. "Haymitch -"

Haymitch throws up one hand. "I don't wanna hear it. Okay, you're grousin' about the Rebellion?" He lowers his voice considerably. "Meet me at the Village Entrance tonight...eight sharp."

Katniss and I watch Haymitch saunter back to his house. "Haymitch wants to meet us after curfew starts," I say, stating the obvious.

Katniss nods. "Yeah. But I don't care, if he's  _finally_ gonna bring us in on what's happening with the Rebellion." She smiles...one of the first I've seen all afternoon. "Besides, then, we get to see if it's true or not."

"See if what's true?" I ask.

Katniss takes my hand as we slowly stroll back towards her house. "That Victors are immune to curfew laws."

* * *

Eight o'clock.

Katniss and I have been waiting impatiently by the Village Entrance for five minutes when we finally spot Haymitch slowly walking towards us, looking like he doesn't have a care in the world.

"Right on time, I see," he smirks as he draws closer to us. He doesn't slow or stop as he saunters past us, his hands buried deep in the pockets of the long overcoat that he's wearing. Katniss and I hesitate for a moment before we fall in behind Haymitch, taking a few jogging steps to catch up to him. Katniss falls in to his left while I flank his right side. None of us speak as we walk towards Town, our breath hanging in white clouds in the chill late winter air.

 _This is it_ , I say to myself.  _We're finally gonna find out more about this Rebellion. And once we do, there's no going back._

I feel a cold knot of fear grow in my belly...not unlike the feelings that I experienced in the Launch Room right before my Games. The impact of what we were doing hits me with an almost palpable force, and one word keeps running through my mind.

Treason.

If we are caught...if the knowledge of what we're involved with ever reaches Commander Thread...I have no doubt in my mind that all three of us would be executed. Most likely publicly, in deference to our status as Victors...and mostly likely in a very creative, painful way, no doubt on live Holo, broadcast all over Panem.

Katniss catches my eye and a small, nervous smile appears on her face briefly, only to fade as quickly as it appeared. From the look in her eyes, she no doubt is having thoughts very similar to mine. I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. I don't think I succeed.

We're now in Town, in the Merchant Quarter now, keeping to back streets instead of the more traveled...and public...Square. Curfew or not, there's always a few people out even now...service workers mostly, such as janitorial staff cleaning government buildings, and, of course, Peacekeepers making their rounds. Taking the back streets is a good idea...they aren't well lit, and Peacekeepers have a tendency to stick to well traveled areas.

I wasn't particularly shocked that we are in Town. What shocks me is our destination.

The Justice Building.

We approach the Justice Building from the back, toward a door that I remember well. Service Entrance "B" was where I would regularly go to make deliveries from the bakery to the Justice Building...back in another lifetime. I shoot a glance at Katniss.  _This_ is where we're heading? Katniss can only shrug her shoulders in response.

Haymitch pauses outside the door before slowly lifting one hand and knocking lightly in a strange pattern. After a few seconds I hear the sound of a dead bolt being unlocked and, just barely discernable in the darkness, I see the door swing open...and I immediately freeze when I see who's opened it.

A Peacekeeper.

* * *

I'm standing stock-still, unable to move at the sight of that dreaded white uniform. I hear a sharp intake of breath from Katniss and I know that she, too, is being gripped by the same fear that I feel.

This fear only lasts for a second or two...until the Peacekeeper speaks.

"You brought  _them_  along?"

"Relax, Darius," Haymitch replies softly. "They know."

Peacekeeper Darius Potter steps back, allowing us entrance. "Does she know?"

"No. And fuck her." Haymitch steps through the door, impatiently beckoning us inside. Katniss and I need no second invitation as we follow Haymitch into the building. As soon as I step inside, Darius closes the door firmly, throwing the dead bolt.

"No, thanks," he mutters, before turning toward Katniss and I. In the dim light I can just make out his shock of red hair and his even, white teeth as he smiles grimly.

"Katniss...Peeta. Welcome to Treason Central."

"And you need to knock off that fuckin' talk, Darius!" Haymitch says sharply.

Darius gives Haymitch a withering look, but his only reply is to say, "Follow me."

The three of us follow Darius down a short corridor, through a door, and down another, longer corridor. There's a door at the end of this hallway. Darius pauses at this door, raps out the same coded knock that Haymitch used, and then pushes the door open. He holds the door for us and gestures us inside. I file in behind Haymitch and Katniss and I can see that we are in a conference room of some sort, where several people are seated around a gleaming mahogany conference table.

"Mr. Abernathy," a cold, female voice says from the head of the table. "Miss Everdeen and Mr. Mellark as well," the voice adds in surprise. "Haymitch, I don't recall that I gave you permission to bring them along."

"I don't recall asking for your permission, Fulvia," Haymitch replies brusquely as he gestures for Katniss and I to take seats at the table, before pulling out a chair and sitting down.

I can't help but stare in amazement. Fulvia Cardew, personal assistant to the Assistant Head Gamemaker, is part of the Rebellion? And Darius, a  _Peacekeeper_ , involved as well? But, as I was soon to discover, those were not the only surprises that I was in store for on this night.

"Bringing your two Victors here was an unnecessary risk," Fulvia Cardew continues. "In fact, bringing in elements of no less than four cells -"

"Three," Haymitch interrupts. "Unless you have July hiding in a corner someplace."

"- could quite easily compromise Operation Equinox, and subsequently set the Rebellion back  _years_ , if not decades," Fulvia finishes, glaring at Haymitch.

Another voice chimes in. Female, and obviously younger than both Haymitch and Fulvia. "July couldn't get out of the Home tonight. There was some sort of trouble nearby...a couple of miners were fighting and one stabbed the other. The whole area is swarming with Peacekeepers."

I turn in the direction of the voice, as does Katniss, shock and surprise evident on both of our faces. The owner of the voice had been sitting in the shadows and, even now, was difficult to see in the dim light. But there was no mistaking who it is.

"Madge," Katniss breathes. "Madge Undersee."

Madge leans forward, coming into clear view for the first time. "Hello, Katniss," she replies, greeting her friend with a smile before turning to me. "Hi, Peeta."

"What are you doing here, Madge?" I ask, realizing even as the words come out of my mouth how inane the question is.

"The same reason I'm here," another female voice replies. I know this voice as well. So does Katniss. And, judging from her sharp intake of breath and the way I feel her whole body stiffen at the sound of the voice, I know Katniss is less than pleased.

"You may think of us as privileged," Madge says, "but Cressida and I want the same thing that you do. The same thing that July wants. The same thing that Darius wants. A free Panem."

"Ladies and gentlemen," Fulvia says firmly, "we need to focus and concentrate on the tasks at hand. Every minute that we're together increases our risk. Agreed?"

There's mumbled assent all around the table from everyone...except Katniss. Fulvia Cardew did not overlook her silence. "Miss Everdeen? Agreed?"

"Agreed," Katniss says between clenched teeth. I reach over and slip her hand into mine and squeeze gently. Katniss resists for a moment before returning my squeeze with one of her own, and lacing her fingers into mine. I relax a little bit.

"Very well," Fulvia says brusquely, turning towards Darius. "First item...Darius. You're sure that the security protocols for this part of the building have been disabled?"

"Not disabled," Darius corrects. "Monitored by the right pair of eyes. The digital and audio recordings will be wiped once we leave here. I guarantee it," he concludes emphatically.

I feel a sudden chill when I realize that they're talking about the bugs in place in the Justice Building. Although it would make no sense to conduct a meeting like this in the Justice Building if there was  _any_  risk of bugs picking up the conversation, I still feel that cold knot of fear deep in my belly.  _What if their safeguards fail?_

"How can you be sure?" I ask suddenly.

Fulvia looks at me in surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said, 'how can you be sure?' This whole building is bugged. And we're supposed to take a  _Peacekeeper's_  word for it that no one's listening to us? No offense, Darius," I add hastily.

"None taken," Darius replies dryly.

"Mr. Mellark," Fulvia says sternly, "may I remind you that you are a newcomer to this -"

"I'd like to answer Peeta, ma'am, if I may," Darius says softly, turning to me before Fulvia can respond. "Peeta, I'm not the only Peacekeeper that's involved with the Rebellion...and the risks for us are just as great as they are for you Victors. I have every confidence in the Peacekeeper that's monitoring security systems tonight. Once we leave here tonight, all audio and visual recordings will be wiped. No one will ever know that any of us were ever here."

"Satisfied, Mr. Mellark?" Fulvia asks pointedly.

I feel Katniss give my hand a reassuring squeeze. "Yes," I reply softly.

"Good." Fulvia glances at Cressida. "Do you have an update on the propos?"

Cressida nods once. "They'll be ready on time. I'll upload the finished product to Plutarch tomorrow afternoon. Unless he insists on more edits, we should see the first broadcast two days from now."

"Yeah, about that," Haymitch drawls. "Fulvia...what the  _fuck_ were you thinkin'? 'Why can't we all just get along?' 'I believe the children are the future?' 'Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever?'" Haymitch shakes his head sadly. "These kids are supposed to help settle the districts down, not rile 'em up more!"

"These propos will have their desired effect," Fulvia replies stiffly.

"By putting these two on Snow's permanent shit list?" Haymitch asks sarcastically.

"By calming the trouble districts down," Cressida replies softly. "We've been in touch with the Rebel leadership in each district. They all know what's at stake if these propos fail. So they're putting the word out: after the propos air, the people are to go back to work, cease demonstrations, and stop causing trouble."

"That's it?" Haymitch asks skeptically. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," Cressida replies flatly.

"So, in other words," Katniss practically snarls, addressing Cressida directly for the first time, "others know about Snow's threats to Peeta and I?"

Cressida barely hesitates. "Yes. Some do."

"I don't get it," I finally admit. "What makes Katniss and I so important?"

"Because," Fulvia replies irritably, "Miss Everdeen is the -"

"- first Volunteer  _ever_  from District Twelve," Haymitch hastily chimes in. "Just as Peeta Volunteered at the Third Quarter Quell."

"Yes," Fulvia adds. "And your actions were inspirational to so many. Mr. Mellark, don't underestimate your importance."

"I see," is my only response. I'm not convinced. Fulvia seemed to be about to say something else about Katniss until Haymitch interrupted.

"One last item," Fulvia continues, quickly changing the subject, "and that's Operation Equinox." She turns to face Haymitch. "Will Festuca be well enough to assist?"

"Count on it," Haymitch replies. "He's got a touch of the flu. Nothing he can't handle."

Fulvia nods. "Officer Potter?"

"Timing will be critical," Darius replies. "We'll have a very narrow window in which to operate. But we're ready."

Fulvia sighs. "I hope you're both right. If Equinox fails that puts the chances for a successful Rebellion near zero."

"What's 'Equinox' mean?" Katniss asks.

"Sorry, Sweetheart," Haymitch replies. "You've heard too much already. And you don't have a further 'need to know.'"

Katniss bristles and, for a moment, seems to be inclined to argue, until Madge speaks up again. "Katniss, I don't know what it means, either. But now that you're here, you need to trust them as much with what they  _don't_ tell you."

"Well said, Miss Undersee," Fulvia says. She glances around the table. "If no one has anything else, we need to break this up for now." Fulvia stands up. "We all have work to do. I'll be in touch."

Fulvia leaves abruptly, not even bothering to say goodbye. After a moment, Cressida, who murmurs a quiet "Goodnight" before slipping out, follows her. Katniss and I begin to rise, only to be held in place for a few moments by Darius, who then gestures for Katniss and I, along with Haymitch and Madge, to follow him.

As we move down the same corridors that we used earlier in the evening, Katniss asks Madge, "Aren't you worried about curfew?"

Madge chuckles softly. "Being a Mayor's daughter has some advantages...like Peacekeepers looking the other way when I'm out after curfew."

As we exit the building through the same door that we used earlier, Darius reassures us one final time that no one will ever know that we were there in the first place, before shutting the door firmly behind us. Madge immediately heads off towards the Mayor's Residence while the three of us begin to retrace our steps toward Victors' Village.

We walk in silence until we are well clear of Town proper and the risk of running into a random Peacekeeper is diminished.

"What did Fulvia mean when she was talking about cells?" I ask.

"It's a security measure," Haymitch explains quietly. "Each cell has just a few people in it...no less than two, no more than five. Every cell has a 'contact'...a person that is in contact with the contacts of three more cells. In my case, my contacts are Darius, Fulvia, and July. I only know who my contacts are. I don't know the other people in their cells."

"Are we in a cell now?" I ask.

"Yes." Haymitch glances over at Katniss and I. "Mine. Along with Silenus Festuca...also known as Goat Man."

"What about the Capitolites?" Katniss asks tightly. I can tell that she's still upset about Cressida's involvement in the Rebellion.

"I didn't know about Cressida until recently," Haymitch explains smoothly. "She's a part of Fulvia's cell. She and Plutarch Heavensbee."

"The  _Assistant Head Gamemaker?_ " I sputter in amazement.

"The very same," Haymitch replies, and then he stops abruptly and turns toward Katniss and I. "Listen, you two. Tonight was unheard of. Fulvia is right...we took a helluva risk having a meeting with so many cells represented. But I felt it was worth the risk...I had no idea that I would be able to meet with Fulvia so soon. What I  _didn't_  know until tonight is that Madge Undersee is involved in this. We all know way too much as it is...more than we should, in fact. You two have to be very, very careful."

"Because of this 'Equinox' thing?" Katniss asks.

"And you both need to forget you ever heard that word," Haymitch replies urgently. "At least for now," he adds. "You don't need to know any more about it right now."

"Why not?" Katniss asks irritably.

"Because," Haymitch explains patiently, "the Peacekeepers can't torture something out of you if you truly don't know anything about it."

Haymitch lets that sink in.

The rest of the walk home is made in silence.

**PART IV**

Fulvia was right. The uprisings diminished quickly once our first propo aired.

We made several more propos after that first one, but they were redundant. The first one did the trick. The additional propos only managed to accomplish two things: to force Katniss and I to recite even more of Fulvia's truly horrendous dialogue, and to force Katniss and I into close contact with Cressida and her crew.

Cressida was able, somehow, to maintain her air of formality and professionalism with both Katniss and I. Katniss, on the other hand, sometimes found it difficult, if not downright impossible, to control her distaste for the older woman, and would punctuate our video sessions with thinly disguised barbs and insults.

This went on for a while, with me remaining carefully neutral, until we were ordered to record the final propo in the Capitol...with President Snow.

It was Snow's idea, of course...a final propo with the President of Panem himself. What better way to demonstrate to the entire population that he, and he alone, controlled the Victors?

At least we wouldn't be traveling by train. A high-speed hovercraft would pick us up early in the morning, fly us to the Capitol, and return us to the district a few hours later. It wouldn't even be an overnight stay. But, for Katniss, who has nothing but horrible memories of her trips to the Capitol, it was enough to set her imagination in motion.

The night before we were scheduled to leave, Katniss is laying close to me after an especially tender lovemaking session. Ever since we got the news about our final propo, Katniss has been moody and withdrawn.

"I can't," she whispers miserably. "I can't do it. I can't go."

I pull her closer to me and tenderly kiss her forehead. "Katniss...it's just a quick trip. There and back the same day. We'll be home tomorrow night."

Katniss shakes her head. "He's gonna sell me again. He's pissed because the propos worked. It's never this easy, Peeta. Snow's gonna sell me!"

I pull her closer to me as Katniss begins to weep quietly into my chest. I gently stroke her hair as I murmur softly to her. I wish that I could convince her that nothing will happen...that we will fly to the Capitol, shoot the propo, and immediately fly home again. There's only one problem with that.

I'm not convinced myself that it won't happen.

Would Snow really do that? Would he brazenly whore Katniss out, literally rubbing it in my face? I desperately hope not...but I also know that Snow is capable of anything.

The shudders slowly diminish as Katniss's sobs die down and eventually stop. I continue to hold her close, not talking, just letting her know by the pressure of my body against hers that I'm there for her.

Finally, as the moon shines brightly through the window, Katniss lets out a quavering sigh and slowly, reluctantly, pulls away from me. She holds herself above me for a moment, her unbound hair falling down, framing her tear-stained face, as she looks solemnly into my eyes for a moment before speaking.

"I don't know what I would do without you," she whispers softly, before leaning down and tenderly kissing me. "I'm...I'm going. I'll get through it with you there with me."

"I love you," I whisper in return.

"And I love you," Katniss replies, kissing me again. She rolls out of bed, scooping up her clothing off the floor, and quickly gets dressed. It's a routine that she accomplishes quickly and efficiently. Once dressed, she gives me one final kiss, whispers "I'll see you at dawn," and quickly slips out of my house.

I stare out the window and wait for her bedroom light to come on, but it never does. I sigh, lie back on the bed, and stare up into the darkness for hours, until I finally fall into a restless sleep.

I have nightmares for the first time in weeks.

* * *

The flight to the Capitol was uneventful. Fulvia remained up front with Cressida and her crew for almost the entire flight, coming back to speak with Katniss and I only long enough to drop off copies of the script that we will be reciting later on that day.

Katniss and I barely look at them. The words will be on the prompter, anyway. We both doze for much of the flight...clouds covered much of Panem on this day, so there was little to see anyway.

We land on schedule at the Capitol Hoverport. Before we disembark from the hovercraft, Katniss takes my hand firmly in hers, looks at me, smiles, and says a single word.

"Together?"

I squeeze her hand and, with my free hand, gently fondle the end of her long, thick braid. "Together," I reply, giving her a quick kiss just before we walk off the hovercraft, joining Fulvia, Cressida, and the rest.

Two cars are waiting for us on the tarmac...one of the privileges of being a VIP. Cressida and her crew pile into the larger of the two, while Katniss, Fulvia and I take the smaller car. The car begins to move the instant that the doors shut behind us.

"This should be a quick shoot," Fulvia explains, as the car speeds towards the Presidential Palace. "The President is waiting for us at the Palace. He wants to do the shoot in his rose garden. Once we finish, the only other item on the agenda today is an interview with Caesar Flickerman, but that'll be done at the Palace as well. After that -"

"Wait a minute," I interrupt. "What interview?"

Fulvia looks irritated by the interruption, but she continues smoothly. "After that, you two return to the Hoverport and fly back to Twelve. And the interview is for 'Victors Tonight.' You two, whether you know it or not, are unique."

"What do you mean, 'unique', Fulvia?" Katniss asks impatiently.

"Why, you're the only two Victors in the history of the Games to actually form a romantic attachment with one another," Fulvia explains. " _Everyone_  in the Capitol wants more details." Fulvia shakes her head. "This whole social-pages thing is a huge distraction from my assignment, but thankfully, I won't be responsible for shepherding you through that interview. I've been told that those duties have been assigned to your Escort, Effie Trinket."

I've heard of "Victors Tonight." It's a regular thirty minute "fluff" program on Holo-TV, hosted by Caesar Flickerman, that spotlights Victors both past and present. Marriages, births of Victors' children, Talents...all get coverage. As the two newest Victors, Katniss and I have both been featured on the show, of course. What surprises me is Snow allowing our relationship to become so public.

And Fulvia is wrong about one thing. Katniss and I aren't the first Victors to form a romantic relationship. Some time ago, Haymitch told me that Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta had been carrying on a more or less secret relationship in District Four. Of course, the idea of one of Snow's most prized "properties" carrying on with an emotionally disturbed fellow Victor would not fit Snow's agenda.

Katniss and I exchange looks. Our appearance on "Victors Tonight" would make our relationship officially public, and would effectively kill any future attempts by Snow to re-activate the "stay away from Katniss Everdeen" order. And that's what worries me.

Still, there's absolutely nothing that we can do about it. We've been ordered to the Capitol to shoot a final "Peace Propo" with President Snow, and here we are. We've been informed that we are to be interviewed by Caesar Flickerman for a segment on "Victors Tonight," and so we will be interviewed. I sigh as I fervently wish that this day would just come to an end. There's only one bright spot.

"When we will see Effie?" Katniss asks.

"I'll turn you over to her immediately following the filming of the last propo," Fulvia replies.

I settle back in my seat and watch as the Presidential Palace comes into view, my fingers finding Katniss's hand, and immediately lacing with her fingers. This day may turn out okay, after all. There's a silver lining to the dark cloud called President Snow...and her name is Effie Trinket.

* * *

I knew that things were going too smoothly.

As the cars pull up to the Palace, we are met with a very high-ranking reception committee...none other than Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane and his assistant, Plutarch Heavensbee.

Plutarch heads directly for the first car, the one carrying Cressida and her crew, while Seneca stands by to greet Fulvia, Katniss, and myself.

"Peeta Mellark," Crane says as I step from the car. "Welcome. This is your first post-Tour visit to the Capitol, I take it?"

"It is," I reply, shaking his hand briefly. I notice then that he's looking past me as Katniss emerges from the car, and that his smile has subtly changed...his lips becoming thinner, his mouth set in a sneer that almost looks cruel.

"Katniss," Crane purrs. "A distinct  _pleasure_  to see you again."

"Hello, Seneca," Katniss practically whispers. I glance over at her, watching her cheeks redden with embarrassment as she reluctantly takes his outstretched hand. She pulls her hand away almost immediately, tugging a bit as Crane seems to be unwilling to let her hand go at first, before grinning unpleasantly and releasing her hand.

I feel anger rising up inside of me, even as I force a smile to my face. "I take it that you've met Katniss before?"

The unpleasant grin widens. "Oh, yes. I  _know_  Katniss quite...intimately. Isn't that right, Katniss?"

"Seneca, please," Katniss pleads. I glance from Katniss to Crane as an awful realization begins to dawn. I had known for quite some time what Katniss had been forced to do for President Snow...but this was the first time that I've ever come face to face with one of her "clients." I think back to a long-ago conversation with Primrose Everdeen, and her telling me that Katniss, during her nightmares, would sometimes call out "for Peeta." I feel my stomach knot up as the meaning of those two words finally sinks in.

"Such a tragedy that President Snow has changed his mind regarding your 'service' to the greater good of Panem," Crane continues. I feel my hands ball into fists as my anger quickly approaches the boiling point.

Katniss turns toward me, quickly laying one hand on my arm. "Peeta," she says urgently. "No."

Katniss looks up at me, her eyes pleading. I take a slow, deep breath. Then another, and still another, before I allow my hands to relax and I nod, once.

"How touching," Crane smirks. His demeanor changes instantly as Plutarch Heavensbee approaches. "Alright," he says brusquely. "Let's not keep the President waiting."

As Katniss and I fall in behind Crane, one thought goes through my mind.  _This isn't over, you son of a bitch. When the Rebellion becomes a reality...you're mine, and mine alone._

* * *

_"What are you watching, Andromeda?"_

_Coriolanus Snow strolls into the opulent living room, where his granddaughter is sitting in front of an enormous holo projection, her attention glued to the program unfolding before her. Andromeda Snow glances quickly at her grandfather, surrounded, as always, by a bevy of aides and assistants, before turning her attention back to the holo._

_"It's 'Victors Tonight,' grandpa," she explains impatiently. "Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen are featured in this episode. Would you like to watch it with me?"_

_Snow smiles indulgently at his granddaughter. "Alas, duty calls. Enjoy the program, my darling," he says affectionately, before turning to a nearby aide. "I trust you have the_ updated _timber production figures from District Seven?" His tone now is anything but indulgent or affectionate._

_"Yes, sir," the young woman stammers, holding out a PADD with trembling fingers._

_Andromeda turns back to the program, accustomed to her grandfather conducting what he called "the nation's business" at odd hours. She scarcely notices as Snow and his entourage leave the room...her attention is completely focused on her program._

_The scene cuts to the familiar face of Caesar Flickerman, sitting before a cozy fire in what Andromeda recognizes as one of the first floor sitting rooms. Caesar is facing the camera, his perfectly coiffed hair...now a muted shade of peach...perched on his head. Andromeda listens with rapt attention as Caesar begins to speak._

_"Good evening, Panem! Welcome to a very special edition of 'Victors Tonight.' We have a pair of very special guests with us tonight: Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!"_

_The camera pulls back, revealing Katniss and Peeta sitting across from Caesar. Andromeda frowns as she leans forward. No...it can't be! Are Katniss and Peeta_ holding hands _?_

_"Welcome, you two, welcome!" Caesar continues._

_"Thank you, Caesar," Katniss replies with a smile. "It's a pleasure to be here."_

_"So," Caesar continues, "you are both here on a very important mission."_

_"Yes," Peeta says. "We're working directly with President Snow on a series of appeals for peace and unity throughout the districts."_

_"With a great deal of success, I might add," Caesar adds. "Since these spots have begun to air, trouble is down and productivity is up in every single district!"_

_"We're just happy that we could be of help," Katniss says quietly._

_Caesar sits back in his chair. "Of course, Panem isn't the only beneficiary of 'unity.' There's something a little more personal going on with you two!"_

_"Yes," Peeta says, turning towards Katniss and smiling._

_"Oh, please don't keep us in suspense!" Caesar pleads. Andromeda can feel her heart pounding in her chest._ Oh, please don't let them say it. Please!

_"Peeta and I are in love," Katniss admits with a smile._

_Andromeda can feel the tears springing to her eyes as Katniss's words sink in. Caesar leans forward, a glint in his eye and a smile on his lips as he asks his next question._

_"With each other?"_

_Katniss laughs. "Of course, Caesar! And we couldn't be happier!"_

_Tears course down Andromeda's cheeks as the news becomes official. "You two are making history," Caesar says. "The first confirmed romantic relationship between two Victors in the history of the Games!"_

_"It's hard to believe," Peeta is saying, "especially with more successful districts such as One, Two, and Four. I mean, doesn't District Two have more Victors than any other district?"_

_"Oh, they do," Caesar confirms. "But remember, their Victors are quite...competitive." He pauses for a moment and smiles conspiratorially. "Seriously now, could either of you imagine Enobaria and, say, Brutus, taking a romantic sunset walk?"_

_Katniss laughs again. "I see your point, Caesar!"_

_Andromeda is barely listening to the broadcast as her fingers work quickly, pulling apart the intricate braid in her thick, light brown hair._ I hate you, Katniss! I hate you, Peeta! _She's crying openly now, not caring whom, if anyone sees her._

_"Your new romance even has a name here in the Capitol," Caesar is saying. "Quite appropriate, considering your unique circumstances."_

_The braid all the way undone, Andromeda leaps to her feet, running up the stairs to her bedroom, where her door slams emphatically behind her. She misses the rest of the show, including Caesar's revelation to Katniss and Peeta as to what the good citizens of the Capitol are calling them._

_"A name?" Peeta asks. "For Katniss and I?"_

_"Yes," Caesar replies. "In deference to your impressive showings in each of your respective Games, you two are quickly becoming known as 'The Blood-Soaked Lovers of District Twelve.'"_

**PART V**

Katniss was withdrawn the entire flight back to Twelve, speaking only minimally, rarely meeting my eye. And I have a very good idea why.

Seneca Crane.

We, of course, had never discussed details of her forced prostitution. I didn't think that it was something that she would even been  _willing_  to freely discuss with me. And, to be honest, I really didn't want details of what she was forced to do...or to know with whom she was forced to be with.

Well, that hit me squarely between the eyes today. Now, I have to convince Katniss that it doesn't change how I feel about her.

After our return to Twelve, Katniss went straight home, giving me a quick, almost perfunctory kiss goodbye. She declined my invitation to come over to my house, claiming exhaustion from our long day. I had to agree with her...I, too, was exhausted. But I had nothing on my mind more than a little quiet cuddling. I tried to communicate this to Katniss, to no avail.

Her room was dark for the rest of the night.

The next day, I went to her house, only to be informed by her mother that she wasn't feeling well, and that she just needed a day or two of rest and quiet. I dropped off some bread that I had baked, including an extra dozen cheese buns for Katniss, and left to go talk to Haymitch.

Haymitch, of course, was no help. I gave up trying to rouse him from his drunken stupor after about five minutes or so before going home...where, I was surprised to see, Prim was patiently waiting for me on my front steps.

Prim rises to her feet as I approach. "Aren't you supposed to be in school?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "It's Saturday, remember?"

That's right. Sometimes the days seem to run together. "Do you have a minute?" Prim asks.

I nod. "Let's take a walk." We begin to stroll around the Village. The weather is beginning to turn warmer with the approach of spring, and today was rain free, for a change.

Prim gets right to the point. "What happened yesterday? In the Capitol, I mean."

I take a deep breath and quickly bring her up to date on everything that transpired, especially our encounter with Seneca Crane. Prim says nothing until I'm finished.

"I thought it was something like that," Prim says. "Peeta, Katniss is scared to death that Snow will renege on his promise."

"I know," I reply. "She was terrified about going to the Capitol yesterday." I pause for a moment. "Sending Seneca Crane out to greet us was deliberate. Snow wanted to remind us... _both_  of us...that his power over us is absolute."

Prim nods. "Katniss isn't really sick."

I smile. "I didn't think she was."

"Peeta, she'll be alright. Just give her a day or two."

I sigh. "I know. Damn, I wish all this would just go away."

Prim shakes her head. "It never will. You just have to learn to live with it. Both of you will."

"You're right." I sigh again. "Prim, do me a favor."

"Sure, Peeta. Anything."

"Tell Katniss...tell Katniss to come pick up her pearl." We stop in front of the Everdeen house. "I've been holding it for her."

Prim smiles. "I will." She turns to leave, and then stops and turns back around to face me again. "'Blood-Soaked Lovers of District Twelve?' Did Fulvia come up with that?"

I chuckle and shake my head. "Sounds pretty ghoulish, huh?"

Prim nods. "I liked the rest of the show, though." She rises up and quickly kisses my cheek. "See you later, Peeta."

* * *

I don't see Katniss at all for the rest of that day...or that night, for that matter. Or on Sunday, either. I do as Prim suggests, and give her the time and the space that she needs.

The next day, I had meetings in town with the contractor from the Capitol that had been assigned the task of rebuilding my families' bakery. It seems they needed my approval on every tiny detail, which, of course, I deferred to my brother. It would be his bakery, after all.

Nevertheless, it took all day long. It was near dark by the time I get home. I check over at Katniss's before I return to my own house, only to find that she had gone into town to have dinner at the Mayor's Residence, as a guest of Madge.

Good. At least she's getting out of the house now.

Prim brings me a plate later on, and she keeps me company while we eat. We even watch a little Holo together, and we catch a repeat of the "Victors Tonight" episode that featured Katniss and I. After the program was over, Prim returned home, claiming homework that needed her attention. I decide to go to bed early -

\- Only to awaken some hours later by someone sitting on the edge of my bed, and then slipping under the covers. I feel a small, warm body press closely against my back, and a slender arm creep around my chest.

"Are you awake?" Katniss whispers.

"I am now," I admit, turning to face her. I feel her warm breath on my face as her lips press tenderly against mine. My arms slip around her and pull her tightly to me as our kiss deepens, her tongue sliding wetly against mine.

"Prim told me that you told her to tell me to come get my pearl," Katniss says breathlessly as we break our kiss. The kiss, combined with the warmth of her body pressing against mine, is definitely affecting me. I can feel my manhood begin to pulsate to life, rising up between us as it presses firmly against her thigh.

"You can keep leaving it here, if you want," I reply softly. "That was just to try to get you to come over."

"It worked," Katniss says before kissing me deeply again. I hear a soft moan from deep in her throat as my tongue swirls around hers.

This kiss lasts longer than the first. My shaft is now fully erect as she slowly undulates against me, causing me to moan softly. "Thank you," she whispers.

I steal one hand around to her chest, gently cupping one small, firm breast, squeezing softly and feeling her nipple bud against my palm. "For what?"

"Understanding," Katniss replies, as her fingers close firmly around my pulsing erection. "Giving me...time...ooh," she moans, as I dip my head down to gently draw her firm nipple into my mouth, sucking and biting gently.

"I gave you what you needed, Katniss," I moan as her fingers begin to stroke my length. "Because I love you."

"I love you, Peeta," she breathes, shifting around and pushing me onto my back. "Just lie there," she whispers, "and don't move. I want to give you something."

She kisses me again, quickly, and then her lips begin to kiss slowly down my throat and chest. I gasp in delight as I feel her tongue tease each of my nipples, reveling in the new sensation. Her hand never stops its slow up and down stroking motion on my manhood...now almost painfully swollen.

Katniss's lips and tongue continue to work their way slowly down my chest, my belly, and I realize with a shock where she's going. "Katniss?"

"Hmmm?" I feel my straining organ brush against her cheek.

"You...you don't have to..."

"I know," she says softly, lifting her head off of my belly. In the dim light I can just barely make out her face, framed by a curtain of dark hair. "I want to."

I don't have a chance to say anything else as I feel the sensitive head of my shaft suddenly enter a warm, wet cavern. I moan softly, feeling her hand slide down to gently cup and squeeze my bollocks, now almost painfully tight and swollen, as her head begins to slowly bob up and down.

Again and again I feel her warm, wet lips slide up and down the length of my organ. Katniss never stops fondling my tightly swollen sack as her other hand grips the base of my staff, stroking it up and down in the same rhythm as her mouth.

I moan again as I feel Katniss shift around on the bed, and I reach down, running my fingers through her hair before I slide them down her smooth back, trailing a finger through the cleft of her buttocks, finding her sweet, wet center as she raises one leg, allowing my fingers to easily slide over her slick heat.

I can hear Katniss gasp as she pulls her mouth off my shaft, continuing to stroke as her tongue tip runs teasingly over my length. I slip first one, then two fingers into her moist cleft, hearing her moan again as I slowly begin to slide them in and out.

Katniss and I both moan in unison as my hips begin to twitch, thrusting softly against her caresses. I feel her center clench tightly at my fingers as they slip in and out of her easily. I feel her lips close once again around my length and I gasp again, feeling the explosion rising up from deep inside.

"Katniss!" I gasp. "I'm gonna...you gotta...I can't hold back!"

Katniss pulls her mouth off of me, whispering softly, "Do it. I want to taste you," before plunging back down over my manhood, drawing me in as deeply as she could go. That did it. I lose all control as I groan loudly, my shaft pulsing four, five, six, seven times, my pent-up seed jetting hotly into her mouth.

Almost at the same time, I feel Katniss's nether lips clamp tightly over my fingers as her hips shake and her thighs clench tightly together. Her moans mix with breathless wet sounds as her mouth continues to work on me, never stopping until I moan a final time, and her mouth opens to allow my rapidly shrinking organ to fall to my belly.

Reluctantly, I pull my fingers from her body and bring them to my mouth, licking and sucking her essence off of them as I feel her kiss her way up my body. Katniss reaches my lips and, without hesitation, I eagerly press my lips to hers, tasting my seed as she, in turn, swirls her tongue over my lips, tasting her own sweet nectar as I pull her close to me.

Our kisses are tender, loving, and giving all at the same time. Finally, she pulls her mouth from mine and I can just barely see her eyes staring intently into mine.

I reach up, gently stroking my fingers over her smooth cheek, as I whisper, "You didn't have to."

I can just barely make out her face as she smiles at me. "That's the first time I've ever wanted to."

"Thank you," I whisper, kissing her again.

"Did you like it?" She asks anxiously.

"No," I reply. "I loved it."

"I loved doing it for you, Peeta," Katniss whispers. "And I love how you taste."

No doubt about it, her words are arousing me again. "I wish you could stay all night," I whisper.

"So do I," she replies sadly. I feel the bed shift and I know that she's getting out of bed. I lean forward and kiss her back and shoulders as she fumbles with her clothes, eliciting more moans and sighs from her.

Katniss laughs softly. "Enough." She leans over and gives me a quick kiss, before continuing to gather up her clothes and get dressed. I lean over and turn on a small bedside light to help her. She favors me with a quick smile as she finishes getting dressed.

"Don't get up," she says as she sits back down on the bed.

"Just so you know," I say with a smile, "I love how you taste too."

Katniss blushes as she leans forward to give me a final kiss. "Do you want to fix me dinner tomorrow night?" She asks.

"I want to fix you dinner every night," I admit, running my fingers through her hair.

"Good," she says, straightening up. "We'll have dinner together tomorrow night. And we'll have more time for...afterwards."

"I love you," I blurt out.

"And I love you," Katniss replies gently. She runs her fingers over my face one last time. "See you tomorrow night, Peeta. G'night."

And she's gone.

I hear the front door close firmly as I get up and watch her walk across the Green...now starting to actually turn green again...to her house. I see her hesitate at her front door as she turns, sees me, waves, and blows a final kiss.

I sigh and fall back into bed. Someday...we'll actually spend all night together.

I go to sleep with a smile on my face. I can't believe how good it feels to love someone as much as I love Katniss Everdeen.

**PART VI**

I'm over at the Everdeen house about a week or so later, working on a suddenly balky oven. According to Mrs. Everdeen, it won't remain at a constant temperature. I think I know what the problem is...a bad thermocouple.

A call to the Capitol Liaison office is no help. They can have someone from Maintenance come out and take a look at it...tomorrow. And, if it's a bad thermocouple, which I'm about ninety-nine percent sure it is, then Maintenance will have to order one from the Capitol, where it will be shipped...by train.

"Look," I explain to the flunky in the Liaison Office, "I know what the problem is. And I know how to fix it. There are nine unoccupied homes out here. This is what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna force my way into one, take the working thermocouple off  _that_  oven, and install it on the Everdeen's oven. Then, when you finally get the part from the Capitol, you can use it to replace the one that I took. Got it?"

"Mr. Mellark," the Liaison flunky says, "I can't condone you breaking into another home in the Village."

"Would you rather I contact the Gamemakers Office in the Capitol and let them know that one of their Victors can't use her oven because District Twelve Liaison Office Maintenance doesn't have a simple, five Sesterce part on hand?"

There's a long pause. Finally, the voice on the other end says, "Very well. We will let the Peacekeepers know what you intend to do."

"I thought you'd see it my way," I say smugly as I hang up the phone.

"Well?" Katniss asks.

"You'll have a working oven in about an hour," I say. "I just need to run over to Haymitch's. He's got all kinds of tools in his basement that I don't have. I just need to borrow a tool kit from him."

"Thank you, Peeta," Mrs. Everdeen says. "You're a lifesaver!"

"Anytime, Mrs. Everdeen," I reply. I turn to Katniss. "I'll be right back."

"Okay," she replies with a smile. She gives me a quick kiss, earning a slightly arched eyebrow and a half smile from Mrs. Everdeen, and then I leave.

I'm at Haymitch's front door in seconds. I knock briskly. Hazelle Hawthorne answers the door a few seconds later.

"Peeta," she says with a smile. "Come on in. And you know you don't have to knock."

"Thanks, Mrs. Hawthorne," I reply, returning her smile. "But I'm not Haymitch...I don't just barge in. Speaking of Haymitch, is he here?"

Hazelle shakes her head. "He had to run into Town for something. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"No," I say, heading toward the kitchen. "I just need to borrow a tool kit from him. I know where it is."

"Wait!" Hazelle calls out sharply. "Where are you going?"

I stop and turn, facing her. "To the basement. Where Haymitch keeps his tools."

Hazelle frowns and takes me aside where she very quietly says, "Peeta...Haymitch asked me a few days ago to stay out of the basement."

"I'll only be a minute," I say, wondering why Haymitch ordered Hazelle to stay out of his basement. There's nothing down there but his tools and the stuff that I had set up to sleep down there while I was living with him. I turn and grab the basement door handle.

"Peeta, wait!" Hazelle calls out again, but it's too late. I pull the door open, call out "I'll be right back" over my shoulder, and step onto the stairs. Below me, the basement is pitch black. I strain my eyes in an attempt to see something in the unexpected darkness.

"Hmmph," I mutter. "That's weird." It's the middle of the day. There should be at least  _some_  light penetrating the small basement windows...but I can't see more than a few stair steps in front of me.

No matter. I'll turn on the light. I reach for the wall, fumbling with the light switch, finding it, pressing it firmly, and seeing, to my satisfaction, the basement suddenly flood with light -

\- And I find myself staring into the muzzle of a very large, very deadly looking gun, being aimed unwaveringly at my face by a stern-faced man with closely cropped hair.

I stop dead in my tracks, my eyes widening as I stare at this stranger aiming a gun at me, and I do the only thing that comes to mind.

I ever so slowly raise my hands high over my head.

The muzzle of the gun doesn't waver by so much as a millimeter, even when I hear a noise behind me and Hazelle Hawthorne says in a resigned voice,

"I  _told_  you not to open that door!"


	26. CHAPTER 26

**CHAPTER 26**

**PART I**

_Thump-dump. Thump-dump. Thump-dump._

I feel each heartbeat pulse against my chest wall, my eyes glued to the muzzle of the pistol pointing at my head. I've been in trouble before. Flogged twice, arrested for bogus crimes that I didn't even commit, launched into an arena of death, beaten, shot with arrows, and came about as close to dying as a person can come without actually crossing into the realm of death...but  _this_...facing a cold-eyed man pointing a pistol unwaveringly at my head in Haymitch Abernathy's fucking  _basement_...

I'm only dimly aware of Hazelle Hawthorne's presence behind me as I stand, my hands raised far above my head. The man's eyes grow colder still, as his right thumb descends on the pistol's hammer, deliberately pulling it back with an emphatic  _click-click_.

_This is it. This is how I die. At the hands of a total stranger in Haymitch Abernathy's basement...and I have no idea why._

"Mitchell," a quiet, firm, female voice says, her face wreathed in shadows. "Mitchell!"

"He's seen us," the steely-eyed man mutters, his accent strange and hard to place. "Ma'am, he'll compromise the whole op." The muzzle of the pistol doesn't waver so much as a single millimeter.

I hear a board creak on the stairs and the woman's face comes into view. Her short, dark hair is pulled straight back from her thin, angular face. Sharp-featured, my mother would call her. And, gauging by the deference that the man called Mitchell is showing her, definitely in charge.

"Stand down, Soldier," the woman says. "Now. Unless you want to explain to Coin exactly why you greased a Victor?"

Uncertainty flits over his face for the first time. "Ma'am?"

The woman reaches one hand over the mans shoulder, firmly grasping the pistol clenched in his hand, deliberately grabbing it so that one finger is wedged in between the hammer and the rest of the gun. The man called Mitchell couldn't fire the gun now even if he wanted to.

"That," the woman says slowly and distinctly, "is Peeta Mellark. Victor of the Third Quarter Quell." The woman carefully pulls the gun out of Mitchell's grasp. "And I'm reasonably sure that President Coin wants him alive and undamaged."

President  _who_?

"Besides," the woman adds, "did you stop and think about the noise that a gunshot would make? Even down here? The idea is to  _not_  draw attention to ourselves."

The man called Mitchell reddens slightly from the quiet rebuke, and I can feel the tension dissipating as my pulse slowly returns to normal, especially after the woman says calmly, "You can lower your hands, Soldier. I've pulled Mitchell's teeth."

Sheepishly, I slowly lower my hands. Even though the woman has taken his gun, the man that she addressed as Mitchell is still watching me carefully, and I have no doubt that any sudden moves on my part would be met with an instant, and most likely, violent response...Victor or no Victor.

"Come on," the woman says. "Let's get off these stairs." She glances back up at Hazelle. I had just about forgotten that she was even there. "Soldier, please secure the door and -"

"Too late for that," Haymitch's laconic voice cuts the woman off. "Boy, I can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?"

Still mindful of Mitchell watching my every move, I swivel my head around and see Haymitch standing in the kitchen behind Hazelle...and Katniss standing directly behind Haymitch.

* * *

"Great security ya got here, Jackson," Haymitch chuckles as he brushes past Hazelle and joins me on the top stair step.

"That's  _Lieutenant_  Jackson to you,  _Soldier_!" The woman retorts angrily. I'm aware of another presence behind me and I glance over my shoulder to see Katniss, confusion written on her face.

 _What's going on?_  I see her mouth soundlessly form the words. I can only shrug in reply.

Haymitch chuckles again. " _Soldier._ Now  _that's_  funny!" He turns back to Katniss and I. "What'dya say, Sweetheart? Am I soldier material?"

"We're all soldiers," the woman called Jackson says curtly. "Soldiers fighting for the same common cause. A free and just Panem."

Haymitch gives the woman a disgusted look. "Missy, I was ass-deep in the Rebellion while you were still being toilet trained. So spare me the rah-rah speeches."

Haymitch's casual mention of the Rebellion finally causes me to find my voice once again. "Everyone just  _shut up!_  Someone needs to explain just what the fuck is going on here! And Haymitch...are you crazy? Talking about... _that_...in the  _house_?"

"Relax, kid," Haymitch drawls. He digs in his pocket and pulls out a small control box. "Remember the gadget I showed you on the train?"

I nod. "A bug detector."

"Exactly." Haymitch holds the box up. "This is the new, improved version. Detects and neutralizes bugs. It's called a 'white noise generator.' Actually this is just the control. The generator is...well, elsewhere. We can talk freely in the kitchen, pantry, and basement."

"Speaking of which," Jackson cuts in. "As long as that door is open we're in danger of being compromised even more."

Haymitch nods. "Point taken." He turns to Hazelle. "Hazelle, can you make some o' that great tea? And bring it downstairs when it's ready?"

"Sure thing, Haymitch," Hazelle replies. Haymitch nods his thanks, closing the basement door firmly, and ushers us all downstairs.

I hesitate briefly, torn between my own curiosity about these strangers, and reluctance to have any more guns pointed at me...until Katniss says, "Come on. I want answers."

That did it. Katniss and I follow Haymitch into his basement.

The first thing that I notice is that the basement, once again, has that "lived-in" look. Not at all surprising, considering that there are now four people living down here instead of just myself. There was still only the one bed, but there were several sleeping rolls laid out on the floor, along with packs containing Snow only knows what. And, something new...a rectangular table and six chairs, one of which Haymitch grabs and plops down into.

"Sit," he says, indicating the other chairs with an extravagant wave of his hand. Almost in unison, Katniss and I both grab a chair and sit down, glancing at each other as we do so. We both want answers and I can tell that Katniss is becoming more and more impatient.

"Now, before either of you start in on me," Haymitch begins, "I just wanna say that you were gonna be brought in on this...at the right time."

"Which is now," Katniss replies flatly.

"Because your boyfriend had to go snoopin' around in  _my_  basement!" Haymitch points out sharply. "Even after Hazelle made it a point to tell him to stay the fuck out!"

"I already told you," Katniss says tightly, "he came over to -"

"- get a tool kit," Haymitch finishes. "Yeah, Sweetheart, you explained all that before." Haymitch rubs his face tiredly, tightly pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger before continuing. "But you're here. We'll just have to rearrange the time line a little. Okay. I guess introductions are in order."

Haymitch lurches to his feet. With another exaggerated gesture, he says, "Ladies and gentlemen, you already know Peeta Mellark. I now give you the Victor of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games...Katniss Everdeen."

The woman called Jackson was the only one of the strangers to show absolutely no emotion at the announcement. Mitchell and the other two, however, were far from emotionless.

"It's such an honor to meet you -" "I thought she was taller. Didn't you think she was taller?" "Holy shit. It's really her. The Mockingjay -"

Katniss rises to her feet with considerably more grace than Haymitch had. She nods slightly at Mitchell and says, "Nice to meet you too." She then turns to the other male stranger...a man of medium build and very average, nondescript appearance, and says, "Sorry to disappoint you," before turning to the last stranger...a young, blonde woman.

"What did you call me? A mockingjay?"

"Not 'a' mockingjay, Soldier Everdeen," Jackson corrects with a small smirk. I make a snap decision. I don't like this woman. "You are 'the' Mockingjay."

"You lost me," Katniss says in confusion. "Why the fuck am  _I_  'the' Mockingjay?"

"Perhaps we should finish the introductions," Haymitch says hastily. "You've already met Jackson -"

" _Lieutenant_  Jackson," the woman snaps.

"Excuse me.  _Lieutenant_  Jackson," Haymitch continues. "This guy -"

"Haymitch," Katniss's voice is tinged with impatience.

"- this guy has already made Peeta's acquaintance." Haymitch shoots Katniss a look before continuing. "At least, his large gun has. This is Mitch-...I mean,  _Soldier_ Mitchell."

"It's an honor," Mitchell repeats, rising slowly to his feet.

"Likewise," Katniss replies impatiently, giving Mitchell a quick nod. She turns back towards Haymitch. "Haymitch -"

"And this gentleman sitting back here is Soldier Homes." Homes rises to his feet, giving Katniss and I a quick nod, which we both return just as perfunctorily.

"You look bigger on TV," Homes states stubbornly.

"I know," is Katniss's simple response.

"And finally," Haymitch says with another flourish, "Our last soldier. Soldier Leeg." The blonde woman rises to her feet and smiles shyly at Katniss.

"It really is an honor to meet you," she says, almost breathlessly. "Your courage, your strength, your selflessness...you are such an inspiration to us all."

Katniss blushes at the praise that Soldier Leeg is heaping on her. "I'm really not anything special," she mutters.

A soft knock on the basement door prevents any further conversation for a moment, as Hazelle descends the stairs with a tray containing a teapot, milk, sugar, and seven cups.

"Thank you, Hazelle," Haymitch says with a smile. "Go ahead and set it on the table, there." Hazelle quickly moves to the table, setting the tray down and passing out teacups. Haymitch waves his cup away and adds, "Why don't you stick around? You're as deep in this as anyone else, after all."

"She doesn't have a 'need to know,'" Jackson says sharply.

Haymitch turns to the dark haired woman, a look of annoyance on his face. "Missy,  _I'll_  decide who needs to know what around here! And, in case you forgot, Hazelle's oldest son was Katniss's district partner in her Games. She's got just as much at stake...and as much to lose...as any of us in this room. Got it?"

Jackson doesn't answer, but simply glares sullenly at Haymitch. Haymitch grins crookedly at Jackson before turning to Hazelle. "There. It's settled. Hazelle, take a load off."

Hazelle sits...reluctantly, it seems to me...while the Mitchell, Homes, and Leeg busy themselves with pouring tea. After a moment's hesitation, Jackson joins them. Haymitch sits back in his chair, that same crooked grin on his face as he pulls a flask from his coat pocket, unscrewing the cap and taking a quick pull before turning back to Katniss and I.

"Questions?" Haymitch asks.

"Just one," Katniss replies, rather coldly. "What's all this 'Mockingjay' bullshit?"

Katniss's question obviously makes Haymitch uncomfortable. "I'll explain later."

"You haven't told her?" Jackson asks with a smirk.

"Told me what?" Katniss asks sharply. "No one's told me shit!"

"Jackson -" Haymitch begins, his tone a warning.

"'Lieutenant' Jackson," she corrects almost absently, before turning to Katniss. "You see, Soldier Everdeen, the use of the Mockingjay symbol goes back many years as the symbol of the Rebellion. The Mockingjay, after all, is an animal that exists in spite of the Capitol, rather than because of it. It's a living reminder that the Capitol is vulnerable. And it's always been the secret symbol of the Rebellion, going all the way back to the Dark Days."

"Wait a minute," I say in confusion. "The Dark Days? The Rebellion failed. That's why we have the Treaty of Treason and the Hunger Games."

Jackson nods, even as Haymitch says, "Jackson...now ain't the time or place -"

Jackson sighs, shaking her head. "No? When, then, Soldier Abernathy? I think that Soldier Everdeen has a right to know what her role is."

Katniss looks from Jackson to Haymitch, anger once again flashing in her eyes. "My 'role?' Somebody better start making some sense."

"Sweetheart, it's like this," Haymitch begins, before Jackson cuts him off again.

"The First Rebellion failed...mostly because there was no unified effort against the Capitol. It was thirteen districts fighting thirteen separate wars. Once the Capitol crushed the strong districts it was an easy task to bring the others under their heel. The Rebellion never died, though...it just went underground. And we've been biding our time ever since, waiting for the right time, waiting for the spark that would unite every district in Panem under a common cause. And that spark is you, Soldier Everdeen."

"No," Katniss protests. "No! I'm not a 'spark.' I'm not this 'Mockingjay!' I'm just a seventeen year old girl -"

"- who was the first non-Career Volunteer since the Forty-Sixth Hunger Games," Jackson continues. "Who was the first non-Career Volunteer to ever win the Games. Whose motives for Volunteering were noble, and selfless, and courageous."

"I did it to save my sister," Katniss replies. "I did it for Prim!"

"And you inspired thousands...even millions," Jackson says. "There's unrest all over Panem. Things can't continue the way they've been without something catastrophic happening. The districts are on a slow boil and they're ready to erupt. But, without unity of purpose...without cooperation...this Rebellion will fail just as surely as the last one. A symbol is needed...something that the people can relate to. Something that they can rally behind. A living, breathing Mockingjay."

Katniss turns toward Haymitch. "How long have you known about this?" Her voice is quiet, and very controlled. Katniss is furious. "How long before you let me in on your little secret?"

"Sweetheart," Haymitch replies carefully, "it's like this -"

Katniss leaps to her feet, her hand striking out. The sharp sound of the slap echoes in the basement as Haymitch's head rocks back. "You son of a bitch! You  _knew_  all along that they wanted to use me! You  _knew_ , and you said nothing! Not...one...fucking...word!"

Katniss spins and faces the strangers. "Forget it. I'm not a symbol. I'm not this 'Mockingjay.' I'm Katniss Everdeen, from District Twelve. I'm seventeen years old. I survived the Hunger Games. I was a...was a...I was forced to do...horrible things. I hate the Capitol as much as anyone, but if you think that I'm what Panem needs to overthrow Snow, well, you're mistaken. All of you!" She pauses and looks around the dark, musty room. "What the fuck were you people thinking? What the fuck do you think Snow would do to Twelve if he knew that I was this 'Mockingjay?' I want Snow dead...but not at the expense of Twelve being destroyed, like Thirteen was in the Dark Days!"

Silence. For long moments no one says anything. Finally, Jackson rises slowly to her feet, facing Katniss with an unflinching stare. "Soldier, I understand your concerns. But you're wrong about one thing."

"What's that?" Katniss, her emotions still running high, challenges Jackson.

"District Thirteen," Jackson replies calmly. "It wasn't destroyed." Jackson indicates the other three strangers with a sweep of her hand. "If that were the case, then none of us would be sitting here right now."

The meaning of Jackson's words sink into my brain ever so slowly. I can only stare in amazement, even as Katniss says, "Are you trying to tell me that you're from..."

"That's right," Jackson might as well be discussing the weather, as calm as she is. "We're all from District Thirteen."

**PART II**

"Peeta?" Sae calls out from the kitchen. "Dinner's ready!"

I glance up from the book I had been reading...a Capitol-approved history of the Dark Days. I had been lingering on the section regarding the destruction of District Thirteen. "Yes, Sae," I reply, carefully putting the book on the table next to my chair and standing up. "Coming."

I'm breaking from my new routine of having dinner with the Everdeens. Mrs. Everdeen's oven is still broken...my plan for borrowing Haymitch's tool kit and cannibalizing the over from one of the other homes delayed, at least for now. I had invited the Everdeens over for dinner that evening, of course...only to be met with a polite refusal.

Poor Katniss. She's still really shaken up by the events of today. So am I, for that matter.

It's disorienting to discover that everything that you've been taught about the Dark Days has been a lie. We had always been taught that District Thirteen had been completely obliterated during the First Rebellion...I have come to think of it as the "First," now that the reality of another has taken root...and that Thirteen was left so toxic as a result that even now, after more than three quarters of a century later, it's still completely uninhabitable.

Yet another lie by the Capitol.

Dinner smells wonderful. I sit down to a thick, savory stew. "Sae, you've outdone yourself," I say as I inhale the aroma.

Sae smiles at the compliment. Her ever-present granddaughter smiles as well, even though I doubt if the girl understands what we're talking about. "Thank you, Peeta. I've made enough for the Everdeens as well. Maybe you could run it over to them later."

I nod. It's a perfect excuse to find some time to speak with Katniss. "I'll do that," I say as I dig in, my appetite returning with each bite. Sae says goodnight and leaves quickly. I know that she eats before I do, on those infrequent nights where she has to cook for me. She's never accepted an invitation to sit down with me.

I eat with a newfound appetite, brought on, no doubt, by Sae's wonderful cooking. I eat in silence, mulling over the events of the day, trying to sort out this incredible revelation.

Far from being the toxic wasteland that I had been taught it was, District Thirteen is alive and well.

According to my teachings (and the book that I had been reading), District Thirteen's chief industry had been graphite mining...but nuclear development had been their real value to the Capitol. Thirteen constructed nuclear weapons for the Capitol...for what purpose remains unclear, as no other civilization seems to have emerged from the Catastrophes except our own nation of Panem. Nevertheless, they constructed nuclear weapons...bombs capable of being dropped from high-altitude hovercraft as well as being capable of being carried by long-range missiles.

Thirteen had been forefront in the First Rebellion...leading the fight against the Capitol. But, because there was no unity of purpose, no real cooperation between districts, the Rebellion eventually failed...and, by all appearances and accounts, the Capitol totally destroyed District Thirteen, sending a message to the twelve surviving districts.

Only it didn't happen that way. District Thirteen suffered terribly during the Rebellion and, in desperation, threatened the Capitol with the only weapons that only they and the Capitol possessed.

"It's called 'mutually assured destruction,'" Haymitch had explained. "Thirteen had their backs against the wall...using nukes was the only option that they had left. Of course, the Capitol has nukes also...so both sides aimed their missiles at the other and waited for someone to blink first."

In the end, it was the Capitol that blinked. They hammered out a secret treaty with District Thirteen...we allow you to live secretly as an autonomous nation, and, in return, we both stand down with our nuclear weapons.

Thirteen had already suffered terribly...the surface was virtually uninhabitable, thanks to the Capitol's liberal use of chemical weapons (the only reason that they survived at all was due to a vast underground infrastructure, where they had secretly turned played-out graphite mines into a virtual underground city...it seems that Thirteen had been planning to revolt against the Capitol for several decades), and being allowed to secede was infinitely preferable to nuclear incineration.

"We agreed to the Capitol's terms," Jackson had added to Haymitch's explanation. "It wasn't easy...we knew that our actions were condemning the rest of Panem to an even more oppressive environment than ever before...but we also knew that we would be of no use if we and the Capitol succeeded in destroying each other."

"I don't understand," I had replied in confusion. "Don't you  _want_  to destroy the Capitol?"

To my surprise, Jackson had shaken her head. "No. The Capitol has all of the resources in place necessary for governing a nation. Our goal is to remove the present corrupt government and leave the infrastructure in place, to be used by the new government."

The new government. I had realized at that point that I had given no thought as to what would replace Snow's regime...assuming, of course, that  _this_ Rebellion was successful. We would need a new government, with new leaders...leaders that would have the best interests of all Panem at heart. And I had absolutely no idea where we would find these people.

Jackson had answered one question. In our first meeting she had mentioned someone that she had called 'President Coin' to Mitchell...when she was trying to convince Mitchell to not shoot me. It turns out that she had been referring to the leader of District Thirteen, President Alma Coin. Jackson spoke of her almost worshipfully, describing her as a strong leader. She carried the title of 'President' because District Thirteen was, for all intents and purposes, its own nation.

Did Jackson have President Alma Coin in mind as the new leader of a Free Panem?

It was almost too much to take in for one day. I finish my dinner, quickly clean up, and gather up the leftover stew and a fresh loaf of bread, and head over to Katniss's house. Maybe, just maybe, she'll feel like talking now. And, if not...well, she, Prim, and Mrs. Everdeen need to eat.

* * *

"You didn't have to do this, Peeta," Mrs. Everdeen says as I hand her and Prim the tureen of stew and the loaf of bread.

"It's no problem, really," I explain with a smile. "Sae made enough for everyone."

"Well, it smells delicious," Mrs. Everdeen replies. "Would you like to join us?"

"I've eaten already, thank you," I say.

"Next time," Mrs. Everdeen says, and then turns to Prim. "Prim, could you go get your sister and tell her that dinner's ready?"

"She won't come down," Prim replies firmly. "She's locked herself in her room every since she came back from Haymitch's house. Every time I try to talk to her she just tells me to go away." Prim gives me a look that asks the question,  _what's going on_?

I shake my head once, very slightly.  _Not now. Later._

"Let me try," I volunteer.

"Good luck," Mrs. Everdeen calls out as I ascend the stairs.  _I think she has a right to be upset,_  I say to myself.  _After all, it's not every day that you're told that you are the symbol...no, the very_ face _of a Rebellion._

I pause for a moment outside her door before knocking softly, twice. "Go away, Prim," a muffled voice says from within the room.

"I just came up to tell you that I've brought dinner over," I reply.

I don't have long to wait. I hear the lock being turned, and the door slowly opens to reveal a very small, scared looking Katniss Everdeen standing on the other side.

She immediately wraps her arms around me and, for a few seconds, I just hold her close to me. Finally, she pulls back and looks up at me, her silvery-gray eyes shining softly.

"It's stew," I explain. "Sae made it. I brought a loaf of bread over as well."

Katniss finally offers me a small smile. "Well, if  _Sae_  made it, I know it'll be good."

I lean in close so I can whisper. "Do you want to talk?"

Katniss shakes her head very slightly. "Not now," she whispers. "After dinner. I don't want Mom or Prim to wonder what's going on any more than they already are."

"Okay," I whisper back, then, in a normal voice, "You need to eat something. Come over after dinner, though, okay?"

Katniss smiles and nods, kissing me quickly. "Count on it."

We walk downstairs together and she sees me to the door. "I'll see you later," I say. "Tell your mom and sister I said goodbye."

"Okay," Katniss says. "And Peeta? Thanks."

"Anytime," I reply with a smile as the door closes behind me.

* * *

I'm still reading the book on the history of Panem when Katniss comes over.

I hear a soft knock at my front door...three quick taps, followed by the sound of the door opening, and Katniss calling out softly, "Peeta?"

I put the book down and stand up, wincing slightly. My prosthetic leg has been irritating me a little lately. "In here," I reply, walking out of the living room toward the front door.

Katniss is waiting patiently by the open door. "Why don't we take a walk around the Village?" She suggests. Good. She wants to talk.

"Good idea," I reply as I grab a lightweight coat from the coat rack near the door. Together we step out into the early spring evening. I breathe deeply. The air is cool, not cold, and the smell of rain is heavy in the air.

Katniss casually laces her fingers into mine. The ease at which she takes her hand in mine never ceases to make me smile.

Katniss sees me smile. "What?"

"Just this," I reply as I hold up our hands. "This never fails to make me feel good."

"I'm glad," she says softly. We stay on the paved surface of the Circle. The Green is more brown than green at this time of year...especially after the rain we got earlier in the evening.

I decide to start things off. "A lot to take in today," I say cautiously.

"Yeah," Katniss replies softly, then, "Did you know? Please tell me if you did."

"About the Mockingjay thing?" I ask. Katniss nods. "No. I never heard anything until today."

"I...I didn't think so," Katniss stammers, "but I had to be sure. I just...Peeta, I don't know if I can."

"I know." I can't imagine what she's going through right now.  _Nice to meet you, and, oh, by the way...we're from a district that you've always been taught was destroyed during the Dark Days, and, while I'm on the subject, we've decided that you're to be the living symbol of the New Rebellion._

"What if I can't?" Katniss asks miserably.

"Then you can't," I reply firmly. "And that's all there is to it."

"It's not that easy," Katniss continues. "What if I don't and Thirteen decides not to help? They've got things that we'll need...hovercraft, guns, soldiers. We  _need_  all those things, Peeta! It won't do us any good if the districts are unified, but fighting the Capitol with pick handles, axes, and scythes!"

"They'll help," I reply. "They want Snow gone as badly as we do."

The sound of a door slamming surprises both of us. We stop and turn, watching as Haymitch emerges from his house, lumbering down his walkway towards us.

"Hi, kids!" He calls out cheerfully. "Feel like company?"

"No," Katniss says flatly. "Go crawl back into your hole, Haymitch!"

"Aww, don't be like that, Sweetheart," Haymitch replies, puffing slightly as he catches up with us. "Look, I was gonna tell you everything eventually."

"That's the problem with you, Haymitch," I point out. "Everything is 'eventually' or 'later.'"

"You're impossible," Katniss mutters as Haymitch falls in next to us as we continue to walk. "Can't you get the hint that you're not wanted?"

"I came out here for a reason," Haymitch replies, "and it's not because I was missin' your sunny personality. I figured you two would have some questions."

"And you'll answer them? Truthfully?" I look at him skeptically.

"The way I see it, I owe you some answers," Haymitch says quietly.

"Okay," Katniss says. "Equinox. I looked it up. It means the two days of the year where day and night are exactly the same length. And we just had one. The Vernal Equinox...the first day of spring."

"And?" Haymitch asks.

"And," Katniss continues, "now we have four soldiers from Thirteen here. They were brought in on the Equinox."

"Almost," Haymitch says. "You got it partly right. Operation Equinox was the infiltration of our four guests from Thirteen. But it wasn't  _on_  the equinox. It was  _thirteen_  days  _after_  the equinox. That way, if Thread got wind of it, when nothing happened on the equinox he would let his guard down. But I don't think he got wind of it," Haymitch adds hastily.

"How did you get them in?" I ask.

"A stealth hovercraft...that's one that's specially configured so it doesn't show up on radar or infrared...flew them to your old stomping grounds, Sweetheart," Haymitch replies, directing the last at Katniss. "They came in at night. At thirteen minutes past midnight on the thirteenth day after equinox, one of Darius's Peacekeeper operatives turned off the perimeter fence for exactly thirteen minutes. Darius met them personally and escorted them here. I already had everything set up for their arrival. That was four days ago."

"And you're gonna hide them in your basement forever?" Katniss asks skeptically.

"These people were chosen carefully," Haymitch says, "because of their ability to fit in to the population here, without attracting undue attention to themselves. It ain't feasible to keep them hidden until..." Haymitch pauses for a moment.

"'Until' when, Haymitch?" I prompt.

"Until they're needed," Haymitch finishes lamely. "For now, we'll introduce them into the population gradually."

"Holding something back, Haymitch?" Katniss asks archly. "I thought you were gonna answer  _all_  of our questions truthfully."

Haymitch is silent for a moment. Finally, "Okay. I'll let you in on  _some_  of it now...not all. Not just yet." Haymitch pauses again. "They're here to liaison between us and Thirteen...and to help us jump start the Rebellion."

"What does that mean?" I ask. "'Jump-start the Rebellion?'"

"Because," Haymitch replies slowly, "it starts here. In Twelve. The first battle will be fought right here."

I feel a cold chill in the pit of my stomach at Haymitch's words as Katniss asks the logical question. "When?"  _Oh Snow. It begins here. The first battle will be fought_ here.

"Soon," Haymitch says. "And that's all I'll say on the subject...for now."

Katniss and I both recognize the tone. Haymitch has said all that he's willing to say for now. It won't do us any good to try to press the issue.

"You said that they were 'chosen,'" Katniss says, changing the subject. "Who chose them?"

"Boggs," Haymitch replies. "Their commander. He's a colonel in District Thirteen's military, and their chief of security. Jackson says that he wanted to command this mission personally." Haymitch chuckles. "I asked her why he didn't. All she would say is that he would stick out like a sore thumb. She said that I'd understand if I ever get the chance to meet him."

"How did they even get involved? District Thirteen, I mean?" I ask.

"All I know is, Plutarch's been in communication with them for over two years now," Haymitch explains. "He won't tell me how they managed to contact him originally. He did say that the decision to actually go forth with the start of the New Rebellion was fueled, in part, by your relationship with Peeta. He loves that 'Blood Soaked Lovers of District Twelve' bit."

"And me being this 'Mockingjay,'" Katniss adds bitterly.

"Sweetheart, like it or not, you are immensely popular in the other districts," Haymitch says patiently. "Even after those truly awful propos that you shot for Snow. And Peeta is a close second to you. Your story is compelling...especially since just about everyone out there can relate. Growing up dirt poor, half starved all the time...three-quarters of Panem has experienced your struggle. Sweetheart, they look at you and see themselves."

"And what if I don't want it?" Katniss asks, the challenge clear.  _Does my possible refusal constitute a withdrawal of help from Thirteen?_

"That's your choice, of course," Haymitch replies stiffly. "And, just so you know, I'll support whatever decision you make."

"Even if I say no?" Katniss asks.

"Even if you say no," Haymitch confirms. "Sweetheart, you aren't a good enough actress to lie to people convincingly. If you're gonna be the Mockingjay, you're gonna have to  _want_  to be the Mockingjay. Personally, I'd much rather have you  _not_  do it if your heart ain't in it."

"I just don't know," Katniss says, her voice almost a whisper. "What do you think Snow will do to the district once he sees me telling people to rise up against him?"

"His reaction will be the same regardless," Haymitch points out. "He'll retaliate no matter what."

"And what about you, Haymitch?" I ask suddenly.

"What about me?" Haymitch looks at me warily.

"When all is said and done, where will you stand with the new government?" I ask bluntly.

"I won't," Haymitch replies evenly. "I won't because I doubt if I'll survive long enough to see the Rebellion through to the end."

No one much felt like talking any more after that.

**PART III**

Over the next week or so, Katniss and I both get to know our strange guests from District Thirteen a little better. Well, we try to, at any rate.

Lieutenant Jackson, the leader, is close-mouthed about her personal life. We do manage to determine that she's in her forties, unmarried ("a soldier has a duty to remain as free from distractions as possible"), and no children. She is completely dedicated to her job and to her President, Alma Coin.

Mitchell is the oldest. He's somewhat older than Haymitch and is easily the most taciturn. For him, everything revolves around the successful accomplishment of his assigned mission. We manage to learn from the others that Mitchell is a deadly accurate marksman and can "shoot the dust off your boots at fifty meters."

Homes, the other male member of the team, remains quiet in the beginning, although he never does say much of anything even when he does open up a bit. Like Jackson, he's totally devoted to their President Coin. A marksman like Mitchell, he's somewhere in his mid-thirties.

Leeg is the youngest...somewhere in her early twenties...and the easiest to talk to. Of course, her hero worship of Katniss plays a large part is getting her to open up to Katniss and I. We learn that she has a twin sister back in Thirteen and that her father is still alive. We also learn that her mother died in a mysterious epidemic some years ago, and that many of the men that became ill during that same epidemic were rendered sterile. Katniss and I learn more about the mysterious District Thirteen from Leeg than we did from the other three combined.

Life in District Thirteen is Spartan, with luxuries and creature comforts being almost nonexistent. The district, by necessity, is the only truly self-sufficient district in all Panem. Everything that they need, they produce or manufacture themselves. Even though the surface is no longer toxic, the only activities that take place there are related to raising food animals such as rabbits and chickens. Beef is almost unheard of...their cattle are raised for dairy rather than meat...although pork products appear on the menu from time to time. Pigs will eat anything, including what Leeg refers to as "edible garbage," and so are remarkably easy to breed and farm.

There are sheep...raised for wool rather than for meat. Most of the farming, in fact, is done underground, rather than on the surface, using what Leeg describes as "hydroponic" or "soilless" farming. The Thirteens are hyper sensitive to their fear of attack by the Capitol, even after a decades-long cease-fire, and prefer to keep as much underground as possible.

Everything, and I mean  _everything_ , is rationed and recycled in District Thirteen. That explains, in part, why Leeg and the rest of the Thirteens reacted so enthusiastically to something as simple as Hazelle Hawthorne bringing them tea.

"Tea and coffee are rationed," Leeg had explained. "We only see tea and coffee when there's a need to ingest stimulants. And  _never_  with milk and sugar."

Leeg went on to explain that how much a person was given to eat was directly related to how many calories they burned at their assigned job. "No one starves," Leeg had said. "But, at the same time, no one ever walks away from the mess hall full, either."

Katniss and I learned one other fact about daily life in District Thirteen. Everyone, and I mean  _everyone_ , over the age of sixteen is a soldier. In fact, it's a coveted badge of honor to be able to be addressed as "Soldier."

Your job is Poultry Tender? You feed chickens and collect eggs with a pistol strapped to your waist. You're a Cook in the mess hall? All well and good...but if you work the early shift (breakfast and lunch) then you have two hours of mandatory combat drill in the afternoon. The schedule is reversed for the cooks that work the late shift. The same is true for Electrical Technicians, Administrative Specialists, Maintenance Workers, Construction Engineers, and Medical Technicians...all are trained to fight, if necessary.

And some, like our guests, are soldiers by trade.

Jackson is the leader. A lieutenant...an officer...she's worked her way up through the ranks and is respected by every member of her team. Mitchell and Homes are both expert marksmen. Leeg is the communications specialist, maintaining the link between the team here in Twelve and her home in Thirteen. So far, that has consisted of sending a brief, coded message twice a day at irregular intervals, just confirming that the team is still, in her words, "operational."

"What would happen," I had asked, "if they didn't receive a message from you?"

"If I miss two consecutive messages," Leeg had replied, "they would assume that we've been compromised, and they would attempt to discover our fate through alternate means."

I didn't bother to ask what those "alternate means" were. I doubt if she would tell me. Instead I asked, "And what if you had been, what was it you said? 'Compromised?'"

"The mission would be scrubbed...cancelled," Leeg had replied. "But don't worry. We've trained long and hard for this. By the time Snow realizes that we're here it'll be too late for him to do anything about it."

Leeg had told us that a child in District Thirteen begins military training at the age of fourteen, and, for the next two years, is continually tested and evaluated. At the age of sixteen, and after a special ceremony, they are allowed to affix the honorific "Soldier" to their name.

"I don't understand," Katniss had said. "You call me 'Soldier' Everdeen. You call Peeta 'Soldier' Mellark. You even call Haymitch 'Soldier' Abernathy. We've never been through your training."

"You're all Victors, though," Leeg explained quietly. "You've fought...and killed. That qualifies you as Soldiers."

"And what about you, Leeg?" I had asked. "Have you fought...or killed...anyone?"

"I've successfully completed over one hundred full length combat sims," Leeg had replied, somewhat defensively. "Lieutenant Jackson, along with Soldiers Mitchell and Homes, have completed far more."

"But none of you have ever actually  _killed_  anyone," Katniss had said.

Leeg had been silent for a moment. "No," she finally admitted.

Katniss and I both agree that the chances of this mission...whatever it may actually turn out to be...succeeding aren't quite as great as Haymitch has led us to believe.

**PART IV**

Part one of Operation Equinox was to successfully infiltrate the team from District Thirteen into District Twelve. Part two was to integrate the team into day-to-day life in the district.

"Unfortunately," Haymitch is saying during yet another basement meeting, "Twelve is too small to just shove the four of you out there and say 'blend in.' We can put you all in district clothing and you'll look the part...but if any of you has to do any talking much beyond 'Good morning,' well, your accents will give you away in a heartbeat."

"We have the option of remaining clandestine, if the alternative will compromise the chances of the op being successful. Why don't we just sit tight here until...we're needed?" Jackson asks. I wince inwardly, aware that Jackson came very close to revealing when the Rebellion was actually supposed to start.

Katniss noticed that as well. "And when, exactly, is that?" She turns and addresses Haymitch directly. "Don't you think it's about time that you let Peeta and I in on the 'big day?'"

Jackson shoots a warning glance at Haymitch, who is visibly torn between his promise to us to not hold anything back, and the obsession that Jackson has for what she calls "operational security."

"You're right," Haymitch says firmly. He turns to Jackson and says, "They got a right to know everything. Sorry, Jackson. I've kept my trap shut long enough."

"It's 'Lieutenant' Jackson," Jackson corrects him tiredly. "Fuck it. Go ahead. It's their ass on the line too. Besides, I'm tired of arguing about it with you."

Haymitch shoots Jackson a surprised look. I can't say that I blame him. Jackson has been allowing information to be passed on to Katniss and I with an eyedropper. In effect, this is like her turning on a garden hose as a replacement for that eyedropper.

"Well," Haymitch says in surprise, uncapping his flask and taking a quick pull before continuing, " _that_  was unexpected." He caps his flask and looks at Katniss and I. "Okay. Here it is. The, uh, Games. They'll be a little different this year."

"In what way?" Katniss asks warily.

"If all goes according to plan," Haymitch continues, "they won't even happen."

* * *

I don't know which of us was more shocked...Katniss or I. Katniss recovers first. "Go on. You've got our attention."

"Do either of you know how the Reapings work?" Haymitch asks.

"You mean, the reading of the Treaty of Treason, Effie beginning with the girls, that sort of thing?" I ask impatiently.

"I meant for all Panem, not just District Twelve," Haymitch explains.

"I never gave it much thought," Katniss admits. "I just thought it would be the same in pretty much each district."

"It is...to an extent," Haymitch says. "There's a two hour time difference between us and the Capitol...three hours between us and the westernmost regions of Districts One, Three, and Seven. So, when we have our Reaping at two, in some places it's still before noon."

"I don't see -" I begin, before Haymitch cuts me off with a wave of his hand.

"I'm gettin' to that, boy," he says irritably. "Twelve is further east than any other district in Panem, not counting Thirteen, of course. Our Reaping starts promptly at two. Now, if every other district had their Reapings at two that would mean that Districts Six and Eleven would be Reaping the same time as we do, Districts Four, Five, Eight, Nine and Ten would be an hour later, and Districts One, Two, Three, and Seven would be two hours later. Follow me so far?"

"We already knew about the time differences," Katniss replies, her irritation plainly evident in her voice. "But you said that it's  _three_  hours between us and One, Three, and Seven...not two."

"Sweetheart, you've been there," Haymitch says patiently. "Their District centers are all on Capitol time. Two hours behind us. Anyway," Haymitch continues, "The Capitol wants to get maximum coverage of every aspect of the Games every year, beginning with the Reapings. So, each district is required to view the Reapings of every other district live, as they happen...with exceptions. Do you know what the exceptions are?"

"Us," I reply immediately. "I've never seen a live broadcast of another Reaping. Just the recaps on Mandatory Viewing that night."

"Exactly!" Haymitch grins triumphantly. " _We_  don't watch any live Reapings because  _we're_  the first. But I can see the wheels turning in your heads. 'Wait a minute, Haymitch. What about Six and Eleven? They're on the same time as us.' Well, here's your answer."

Haymitch pauses for a moment as Katniss and I literally lean forward. This aspect of the Reapings is all new to us both. Haymitch glances at Katniss and I before continuing.

"Reapings are staggered at ten minute intervals in reverse district order," he continues. "We're always the first, followed by Eleven ten minutes later, then Ten, Nine, and so forth. All at ten minute intervals from the previous district...so Eleven only has to view our Reaping, Ten views both ours and Elevens, and on down the line to District One, who gets the privilege of standing and watching all of the other districts get Reaped for almost two hours." Haymitch chuckles softly. "In a way, we're lucky. We don't have to sit through two hours of live broadcasts."

"This is all very fascinating, Haymitch, but I don't see what it has to do with them," Katniss says impatiently, indicating the District Thirteen soldiers with a sweep of her arm.

"Think about it," Haymitch says softly. "The Reapings are broadcast live, as they happen. The only thing that the Capitol can do is to interrupt the broadcast, which is easily circumvented...with the right technology."

Haymitch's words begin to sink in as the realization of what he's saying now, combined with what we've been told before, finally coalesces. "The Rebellion begins here," I whisper. "It starts here, like you said before."

"Correct," Haymitch confirms. "And it begins for all of Panem to witness."

"The Reaping," Katniss adds softly. "With all the cameras, and with the entire nation watching. But how?"

"That's where we come in, Soldier," Jackson replies. "We four, plus the Rebel Peacekeepers, plus your own Rebel faction here in Twelve."

"How many Peacekeepers are stationed here?" Katniss asks.

"Somewhere between eighty and ninety," Jackson replies. "Of course, that figure doesn't include the security detachment on the Tribute Train, or the hovercraft on station nearby."

"So figure about a hundred," Katniss says flatly. "One hundred armed, trained Peacekeepers against the four of you?" She glances around at the faces in the basement, her look one of mixed amazement and fury. "Are you all insane?"

"You're forgetting Darius Potter and his Rebel Peacekeepers," Jackson adds. "He's never given us a count, but by all indications there are five or six Peacekeepers that are a part of this plan. Not to mention you three Victors, and other Rebel elements here in Twelve."

"So what are we up to now? Something less than twenty?" Katniss's voice is rising with each word. Her face is flushed and her chest is heaving with each breath. I can't say that I blame her. Reaping Day is when  _every_  Peacekeeper in the district is on duty. What did Jackson and the rest of her team expect the Peacekeepers to do once it was apparent that a full-fledged uprising was taking place?

"Katniss," I say firmly, gently placing my hand on her arm. "Let me." Katniss shoots me a look and I see panic in her eyes. I've never seen panic in her eyes before. I give her a small, hopefully reassuring smile before turning back to face Jackson and Haymitch.

"Maybe now would be a good time for you to tell us exactly how you manage to pull this off," I say, addressing Jackson and Haymitch both.

"My team will be strategically positioned in the crowd, with each of as near as possible to Peacekeeper teams," Jackson explains carefully. "We'll have the element of surprise in our favor. When we hear our trigger word, we pull our pistols and begin shooting. The Peacekeepers won't be expecting immediate, armed resistance and we're counting on them to hesitate and be confused by the initial attack."

"At the same time," Haymitch adds, "The Rebel Peacekeepers will be doing the same thing...attacking Peacekeeper teams. These attacks will be totally unexpected...and this will add to the general confusion."

"Even though we'll be outnumbered," Jackson continues, "the element of surprise should allow us to neutralize thirty to forty percent of the threat before they even have a chance to pull their own guns. Plus, we'll have other Rebel elements in the crowd attacking Peacekeepers with locally fabricated weapons...and, as Peacekeepers begin to fall, we'll be able to turn their own weapons against them."

"And the whole thing will be on a national broadcast for all Panem to see," Haymitch says confidently. "Our uprising will be a trigger for other districts to immediately rise up simultaneously. Snow won't know whether to shit or go blind!"

Katniss and I sit in stunned silence as the "plan" is revealed to us.  _What did they think...that Peacekeepers were just going to stand by and calmly wait for someone to shoot them, stab them, or bash their heads in?_

"What about the crowd?" Katniss asks in a hushed voice.

"What do you mean?" Jackson replies, her brow furrowed in puzzlement.

"The crowd," Katniss repeats. "What do you think will be happening with the crowd? They'll hear gunshots, see Peacekeepers go down, and get spattered with blood. They'll  _panic_ , Haymitch! You know that as well as me! You want an Uprising? You're gonna have a fucking panicked riot on your hands!  _And what about my sister?_ "

Haymitch frowns. "Your sis -" he begins, but then realization dawns and his expression changes from confusion to horrified comprehension.

"Yeah," Katniss practically snarls. "My sister. Prim will be smack dab in the middle of a fucking riot! Who's gonna watch out for her? Huh?  _Who,_  Haymitch?  _Who,_  Jackson?"

Jackson looks stunned, but I'll give her credit...she recovers nicely. "Of course, we'll do everything possible to limit collateral damage -"

" _Collateral damage_?" Katniss practically shouts. "These are  _people_ we're talking about here, you stupid bitch!  _People_! Do you think for a minute that Peacekeepers won't hesitate to fire into a crowd to get to you?"

"Sweetheart, calm down," Haymitch's voice is tinged with urgency. "This is just a general outline. Nothing is firm yet. Believe me, by Reaping Day, almost all of the casualties will be the Peacekeepers."

Katniss stares at Haymitch for a single, long minute before replying. "Not good enough," she says as she rises to her feet. "And you can count me out. No Mockingjay. No 'symbol of the Rebellion.' If you can't guarantee Prim's safety, then don't even bother talking to me." And, with that, Katniss spins, stomps up the stairs, and slams the basement door shut as she leaves.

We all sit in stunned silence for a moment, until Jackson is the first to speak.

"We have to convince her," she says. "Without the Mockingjay, the Rebellion will fail."

Haymitch glances at Jackson. "She's right, you know." He rubs his hands over his face before continuing. "This plan, as it stands right now, sucks, to be honest. There's far too much 'collateral damage' for my taste. No, we need to rethink this...work with Darius, Silenus, and July until we have something workable. Until then...I'm with the Mockingjay."

"Stop calling her that!" I bark sharply. "She hasn't agreed to anything!"

"You have to convince her, Soldier," Jackson replies firmly.

I laugh bitterly. "Me? Are you fucking kidding me? You say you want a revolution? What you've described makes a Games Bloodbath look like a shaving cut by comparison!"

"Did you think this was going to be clean and bloodless?" Jackson demands. "No one hurt except Peacekeepers and Capitolites? This is  _war_ , Soldier!"

"The voice of experience?" I ask sarcastically. "Based on the hundreds of combat sims you've successfully completed?" I see Jackson flush as I mention her inexperience with actual combat. "Let me tell you something. Killing isn't easy." I stand up. "If this is the best that District Thirteen can do, then count me out as well." I turn and walk towards the stairs.

"Peeta -" Haymitch's voice stops me. "We'll figure this out. We have over two months to fine tune this."

I don't turn around. "You better, Haymitch. It won't do any good to have a Rebellion if there's no one left when it's over to rebuild."

* * *

After I leave Haymitch's house, I head straight for the Everdeen home, only to be told that Katniss wasn't there either. A quick check of my house confirms that she didn't go there, either.

I have a good idea of where she might have gone. Before I leave, I grab two items and shove both in my pockets before heading out.

There's still a chill in the air, even though spring is almost three weeks old. I glance up toward the sky and see clouds gathering, blocking out the afternoon sun. I pull my collar up and walk a little faster.

My hunch is right. Katniss is sitting in the Meadow, staring out beyond the perimeter fence toward her beloved forest, her knees drawn up, her arms clasped around her legs. I know she can hear me walking up to her but she doesn't move from her spot or acknowledge me. I reach her and lower myself to the ground next to her.

"How did you know where to look for me?"

I glance at Katniss and give her a knowing grin. "Where else would you be? I figured either here or your old Seam house."

"Am I that predictable?" Katniss leans in towards me, nestling her head against my shoulder.

"Only so many places for you to go," I reply as I reach into my pocket. I pull out a small loaf of bread and hand it to her. "Here. It's not much. But I figure I should have handed it to you like this six years ago, instead of throwing it to you."

Silently, Katniss takes the bread, as she looks up at me, understanding lighting up her eyes. "Six years ago," she whispers. "You remembered the exact day?"

"Happy Bread Day, Katniss," I murmur, sliding my arm around her shoulders.

Katniss holds the bread to her nose, inhaling deeply. "And it looks like rain, just like that day. Thank you, Peeta." She tilts her head up to mine and kisses me gently. I taste the salt from her tears on her lips.

"I have something else," I murmur. I pull her pearl out of my pocket, now mounted in gold and hanging from a simple, yet sturdy, gold chain. "I think you need to hang onto this. I've kept it for you long enough. But, I know how you are...always misplacing shit. So..." I slip the chain over her head. Katniss picks up the pearl and examines it closely, before slipping it, and the chain, into her shirt.

Another salty, teary kiss. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?" I ask.

"Make me feel like everything will be all right," she replies softly. "Peeta, what am I gonna do?"

"Haymitch and I both agree with you," I tell her. "I guess it took both you and I to show Haymitch just how bad the plan is."

"I meant what I said," Katniss replies firmly. "I won't be the Mockingjay...not like this."

"We know that too," I say. "Katniss...I don't like Jackson."

"Neither do I," Katniss admits.

"But she is right," I continue. "This Rebellion...we're dancing around what it really is. It's  _war_ , Katniss. People die in war. Even Haymitch said that he didn't expect to survive."

Katniss snorts derisively. "Haymitch was just being dramatic. Typical."

I shake my head. "I don't think so. Well, maybe a little." Katniss chuckles at this and I allow myself a smile, happy for the moment to have at least coaxed a small laugh out of her.

I pull Katniss closer to me. "Haymitch does expect to die. I think he  _wants_  to die...or, at least, doesn't care if he lives or dies. As long as his death means something."

"And what about us?" Katniss asks.

"I want to live," I admit. "I have a lot to live for."

I see Katniss blush when she realizes that I'm talking about her. "So do I," she says softly, before adding, "and so does Prim."

"The Reaping is still over two months away," I point out. "We have plenty of time to figure things out between now and then." I stand up and extend my hand to Katniss. She takes my hand in hers and I easily pull her to her feet. "There's still a lot to do between now and then...like getting the Thirteens into Town so people will be used to seeing them by Reaping Day."

Katniss and I begin to walk back to the Village, even as the first drops of rain start to fall. "I meant what I said," Katniss says. "Prim has to be safe...and I don't want to see a bunch of innocent people hurt or killed."

"Same here." I slip my arm around her shoulders as we walk faster, trying to beat the rain.

"Thank you for my pearl," Katniss whispers a few moments later. "What you did...it's perfect."

"Madge helped me," I admit. "She knows someone in the Capitol Liaison Office...they have a jeweler there."

"Madge," Katniss breathes. "I never would have guessed her to be a Rebel. Do you know if she's aware of the Thirteens?"

I shake my head. "I don't know. But I think she should."

We walk in silence for a moment before Katniss speaks again. "Peeta...does me wearing the pearl mean that we're engaged?"

I feel my heart race at the words, but still, I know that I have to tread lightly. Katniss has had so much to deal with today. "I'd like it to be," I reply carefully.

Katniss stops walking, grabbing my arms and turning me to face her. Blinking against the rain hitting her face, she looks up at me and whispers, "Is this a proposal, then?"

I stare down into her silvery eyes as she stares solemnly back up at me. I take both her hands in mine as I say, "This isn't how I ever saw myself doing this. But yes. I am proposing."

I see tears forming in the corners of Katniss's eyes as her hands grip mine tightly. "Why now?" Her voice trembles slightly as she speaks.

"I...I...with everything that's been happening," I stammer, "especially today...I wanted you to know...shit, I wanted this to be perfect, and -"

Katniss presses her mouth firmly to mine in a long, deep, and damp kiss, as the rain begins to come down on us harder. Finally, she pulls her mouth from mine and looks up into my face, stray tendrils of her hair plastered to her cheeks and forehead, as tears roll down her face, joining the raindrops.

"Oh, Peeta," she breathes. "Sometimes you can be so...dense. This  _is_  perfect! In the rain, with my pearl and my bread, on the anniversary of the very day that you saved my life. And you are so worried about timing!" She reaches up to tenderly stroke my cheek. "It couldn't have been more perfect," she whispers.

"So that means that you accept?" I ask anxiously.

Katniss smiles up at me. "I accept."

She kisses me again, quickly, and adds, "But right now we're getting soaked. Come on!" We trot the rest of the way back to the Village at the best speed that my prosthetic leg would allow, and I walk her to her door, where we pause for another kiss.

Before Katniss disappears into her house, she whispers, "When I come over tonight...I'm staying. All night. Just so you know. I'll make Mom understand. Things are different between us now."

"I love you," I blurt, earning another smile from Katniss.

"You better," she replies, "and I love you too." She opens her front door and steps into her house, turning one last time for a final kiss. "See you later tonight," she whispers.

I don't think my feet touch the ground the whole way back to my house.

**PART V**

"Okay," Darius is hunched over a large sheet of butcher paper, sketching quickly with a pencil. "Justice Building, temporary stage, and the Square. Scaffolding on either side of the stage with lights and big-screen Holos. Directly opposite from the stage are the check-in tables. Boys assemble here," he points to an area on his sketch, "and girls here. Onlookers back here," he points again, "and over here. Once the Square is full additional onlookers are directed down these streets here, here, and here."

"And the Peacekeeper deployment?" Jackson asks.

"Eight at the check-in table," Darius replies, pointing at the sketch. "Another eight directly in front of the stage. Four deployed here," he traces a finger along the girls assembly area, "and four more here," he indicates the assembly area for the boys. "These are the Tribute Escort Teams. They have one job. Escort the Reaped Tributes from the assembly areas to the stage and prevent anyone from interfering."

"That's twenty-four," Katniss points out. "Where's the rest?"

"One team...a team is four Peacekeepers...on top of the Justice Building," Darius continues. "Another on this building back here." He points at the building directly opposite the Square from the Justice Building. Darius glances up. "There's a medium machine gun set up on each building, each with a crew of three. The other Peacekeeper is equipped with a sniper rifle."

"They can shoot down into the crowd," Katniss says quietly, her voice filled with horror.

Everyone looks grim as they study the sketch. "It'll be a slaughter if we can't neutralize those gun positions," Haymitch says, stating the obvious.

"I've got a plan," Darius replies. "It just so happens that I'm the best marksman in the District Twelve Peacekeeper Detachment. I can just about guarantee that my team will be assigned the position on the Justice Building."

"Just about?" I ask. "That's not good enough, Darius!"

Darius glances up at me. "Peeta, the best marksman is  _always_  assigned to the Justice Building gun position. I was number three at the last Reaping. I'm number one this year. There's no reason why Thread would do anything else."

"Unless he suspected you of something," Katniss says darkly.

"If that were the case," Darius replies sharply, "we wouldn't be having this conversation now. I'd be buried in an unmarked grave with Thread's bullet in the back of my head!"

Haymitch takes a quick pull from his flask before speaking. "Let's try to stay focused here. You two wanna argue, do it on your own fuckin' time." Haymitch arches one eyebrow as he speaks, fixing first Katniss, then Darius, with his gaze. "Darius? Katniss? We good?"

Darius says nothing. Katniss gives Haymitch a quick, sullen nod. "Okay then. Darius, please continue."

Darius takes a deep breath. "As I was saying...when the shit hits the fan, my job will be to take out the gun crew on the Justice Building first, and then neutralize the position on the back building."

"How will we know if you're successful?" Jackson asks.

"Easy," Darius replies with a small smile. "If no one's shooting at you from either building, you'll know then."

"There's too much at stake," Jackson continues. "Those positions  _must_  be neutralized. We have to have a back-up plan in case Potter fails."

"The Elevens," a new voice pipes up. All eyes turn towards the source of the voice...a slightly built boy, somewhat younger than myself, dressed in worn, gray clothing.

"The Elevens?" Jackson asks. "Explain, Barrow."

July Barrow sits up, examining the sketch more closely. Up until now, he's said nothing. "The Elevens. The kids in the Home who aren't quite old enough for Reaping. There's five or six like that. They could be backup to Darius."

"Children?" Jackson says incredulously. "You're proposing sending children to fight trained, heavily armed Peacekeepers?"

"No," July says calmly. "They can't fight them."

"What, then?" Jackson demands.

July grins. "They can start fires."

"The Justice Building is constructed from granite," another new voice chimes in. "And the back building is brick."

"Just the exteriors, Madge," July explains, addressing the new voice. "If I can get the Elevens into the buildings with flint, steel, and a little coal oil, they'll have a couple of nice fires going as soon as they hear the machine guns firing from the roof. As old as the wood is, that shit will flare up instantly. At least the smoke will interfere with their shooting."

"How are they supposed to get into the buildings in the first place?" Haymitch asks.

"I can help with that," Madge replies. "I know ways into the Justice Building...and my mothers' family has the sweet shop in the back building. Getting them in won't be a problem."

"And what if Darius is successful? How are you gonna let them know not to burn both buildings down?" Haymitch presses.

"The machine guns won't be firing," Darius replies. "It'll only take me a few seconds to secure my position. I'll take out the sniper and the machine gunner on the back building first, and then the rest of the crew. The kids can help with securing the weapons from both buildings."

"I can help the kids in the back building once the shit hits the fan," July says. "I don't see a problem. Community Home kids are pretty much invisible anyway," he adds bitterly.

"And I can help the ones in the Justice Building," Madge adds. "No one would think twice about the mayor's daughter going in the Justice Building."

I can tell that Jackson was far from convinced, but Haymitch speaks up before she can voice any more concerns. "Alright. Darius, you're go-to for the gun emplacements, with July and Madge backing you up. Let's talk about the other Peacekeepers. Where are they?"

Darius studies the sketch. "A squad...two teams of four each...on the far side of each assembly area. One squad down each of these three side streets to handle overflow. A squad here...and here," he points at the area where families typically gather to view the Reaping, "and that's it."

Haymitch leans back, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "Lieutenant Jackson? Based on your training and experience, what problems do you see?"

Jackson glances sharply at Haymitch, looking for any hint of sarcasm in his voice, and finding none. Haymitch was truly asking for her advice.

Jackson clears her throat. "As I see it, there are a few problems that we still need to address. One. The security of the Victors while on the stage. All three will have huge targets on them as soon as it's apparent that an uprising is taking place at their urging. Potter, you indicated that there would be no less than eight Peacekeepers directly in front of the stage. Will any of them be part of your Rebel group?"

Darius shrugs. "I don't know. I suspect that Thread will assign Breccia's squad to this position...it's the most prestigious and visible, and Breccia is a notorious ass-kisser when it comes to Thread. If that's the case, then yes, there will be one." He turns to where Katniss, Haymitch, and I are seated. "You'll know who it is."

"Only one?" Jackson asks, frowning.

"That's all we'll need," Haymitch says. "They won't expect one of their own to turn on them. It'll give us time to hit cover if we need to, and -"

"No."

I glance up in surprise. "Katniss?"

Katniss shakes her head. "No.  _If_  I do this...and I still haven't decided for sure yet...I'm not gonna be diving behind chairs or under tables when the shooting starts." She looks around at Haymitch. "If you're right, literally  _everyone_  in Panem will be watching. If I'm supposed to be the symbol of the Rebellion, how's it gonna look if I'm hiding behind a chair? No...I... _we_ ," she adds emphatically, looking at Haymitch and I, " _We_  will have to set the example. And that means all  _three_  of us standing firm, no matter what."

"Then we need to arm you and put you all in body armor," Jackson says firmly.

"Arm us?" I ask. "With guns? None of us knows how to shoot...and there's no way you can teach us without blowing this whole operation!"

"And no body armor," Katniss adds. "Have you seen the dress Cinna designed for me for the Reaping? There's no place to put body armor! Everyone within fifty meters of the stage would be able to tell right away that I'm wearing something under my dress. No. Body armor is out."

"For me as well," I say firmly, earning a smile and a squeeze of her hand from Katniss.

Haymitch hesitates for a moment before adding, "Fuck it. Make that all three of us." He sighs and grins at Katniss and I. "I never thought I was gonna live forever, anyway."

"That's unacceptable," Jackson sputters. "You need  _something_!"

"They got somethin'", a gravelly voice says from the back of the room. "They got me."

"'Bout time you joined in, Silenus," Haymitch says, turning his grin towards Goat Man. "I was startin' t' think you up and died on us back there!"

"Didn't need to till now, Abernathy," Silenus Festuca replies dryly. "Figured I better say somethin', though."

Jackson is eying Festuca with distaste. "Would you mind explaining how you plan on helping?"

"Like this." Festuca sits up, his hand flicking out from his lap. A  _thunk_  next to Jackson's head reveals the quivering handle of a knife, buried a good three centimeters into the wall. "Any other questions?"

Jackson's eyes widen in surprise, but, to her credit, she maintains her professional demeanor. "Impressive," is all she says.

"I'll work with these three," Festuca continues, "although they're all already competent with blades. And no one will raise an eyebrow if they're packin' a sticker or two."

"It's settled, then," Katniss says firmly.

Jackson looks far from happy at this arrangement, but, like Katniss said, she still hasn't committed to being the Mockingjay. Instead, Jackson turns back to Darius.

"Potter, make sure you tell your Peacekeeper that Breccia is his number one target," she orders.

"If she's still alive," Darius replies grimly. "She'll be my number one target...after Thread, of course."

"No," Festuca says firmly. "Thread's mine." He glances around the room, defiance on his face. "I owe him. Besides, Thread will be moving around. He won't notice a broken down old goat herder shadowing him."

Jackson stares at Festuca for a long moment before nodding, once. "Very well. Thread's yours." She glances over at Haymitch, Katniss and myself. "Soldiers? Objections?"

There were none, of course.

"That leaves the dispositions of the other Peacekeepers," Jackson continues. "and the Peacekeepers on the Tribute Train. Potter?"

Darius takes a deep breath before he begins to speak. "I'm only sure about two items: one, that I'll be on the Justice Building Roof, and two, Breccia's squad will be stationed in the 'glamour' spot directly in front of the stage. Other than that...I have no idea about dispositions. I do know that you four -" he indicates Jackson and her team "- will be pretty conspicuous if you start following some of the Peacekeeper teams around. During Reapings, people find a place to watch and they stay there. Peacekeepers, on the other hand, will be roaming around, looking for potential trouble. After all, emotions can run pretty high at Reaping."

"What do you suggest?" Jackson asks tightly.

"Hang back near the check-in tables," Darius replies. "That's the only other place, other than the gun positions and the front of the stage, where Peacekeepers are more or less stationary...and you can't cover the stage or the guns."

"And if one of your Rebel Peacekeepers is assigned to check-in?" Jackson asks.

"I'll let you know," Darius assures her. "Final assignments for Reaping will be posted a few days prior. I'll know where all my people will be by then and I'll get word to you at that time."

Jackson is silent for a moment. Finally she says, "I don't like it. Too many variables. And we haven't even discussed the Tribute Train Peacekeepers."

"We've made a good start," Haymitch says quickly. "And we still have a few weeks before Reaping. We can't solve every problem now. We're still in phase two, after all."

"Which is going well, by the way," Madge adds. "Between July and myself, we've successfully taken Lieutenant Jackson, along with Soldiers Mitchell, Homes, and Leeg into Town several times. We're avoiding contact but not running from it. Our guests have even practiced their District Twelve accents on a few people."

"Successfully, I assume," Haymitch says dryly, "as they're still with us."

"Don't worry about phase two," July says. "We have decent cover stories for each of them that aren't complicated and are convincing. By Reaping no one in Town will give them a second glance."

"Okay, then," Haymitch says wearily. "Let's try talking again as a group in a couple of weeks. I, of course, will be your cordial host. That'll put us at just about a month before the Reapings. So, if there's nothing else -"

"There is." Katniss stands up. "Prim. What about her safety?"

Haymitch looks decidedly uncomfortable. "I actually wanted to talk to you in private about that, Sweetheart. I have an idea...but I don't think you're gonna like it."

"Really," Jackson chimes in, "I thought we had tabled that. This is not the time or the place -"

"Do you want my cooperation, or don't you?" Katniss asks coldly. "Think about your answer very carefully. Because if I don't like what I hear, you can find yourself another Mockingjay!"

Jackson doesn't say another word. Katniss turns back to Haymitch. "You were saying?"

"You ain't gonna like it, Sweetheart," Haymitch mutters.

"Try me."

Haymitch takes a deep breath. "We reap Primrose Everdeen."

* * *

Dead silence for almost a minute, finally broken by Katniss's barely controlled voice.

"What?"

"We deliberately Reap her," Haymitch says quickly. "That way, she's up on stage with you and out of the melee when the panic and rioting begin."

Katniss stares at Haymitch wide-eyed for several heartbeats before she replies. "You want to subject my sister to that? Hearing her name called at a  _Reaping_? Making her think that she's gonna be sent away to  _die_? Only this time, with her own  _sister_  responsible for Mentoring her? Are you  _fucking insane?_ "

"I told you that you wouldn't like it," Haymitch mutters defensively.

Katniss laughs bitterly. "That's an understatement. I absolutely hate it! Do you think for  _one minute_  that I'll put Prim through that hell again?" Katniss spins and stomps off toward the basement stairs. "Try again, Haymitch! Because right now I'm this close -" she holds up her right hand, thumb and forefinger a couple of centimeters apart "-  _this close_  to telling all of you to shove this whole plan up your ass!"

And with that, Katniss stomps up the stairs, slamming the door on her way out.

Haymitch sighs. "That's becoming a habit with this girl," he mutters.

"She's right, Haymitch," I say quietly. "You, of all people, should know what it's like to hear your name called."

"It wasn't his idea," Jackson says. "It was actually mine."

I stare at Haymitch incredulously. "And you went along with it?" I stand up and face Jackson. "You've got no idea what kind of stress a Reaping puts on a kid! None!"

Jackson looks defensive. "It's not real. It's not as if she'll actually board the train."

"Oh, fuck," I say disgustedly. "Why am I even arguing with you? You've been sitting back in Thirteen for all these years, watching every other District in Panem do your bleeding for you! You've got soldiers, guns, and hovercraft...and you did  _nothing_  to stop it! And if you don't think that Prim's safety is a game-changer for Katniss...guess again! Katniss  _volunteered_  for Prim! She's literally willing to die for her! And the last thing she wants is for Prim to be subjected to this kind of stress."

I turn to leave. "I'm going to talk to Katniss. Not to convince her of your idiotic plan, but to reassure her that Prim  _won't_ be Reaped. And, I suggest that you all do some serious fucking thinking on how we're gonna keep Primrose Everdeen safe, or, as Katniss said, you better start looking for another Mockingjay."

* * *

I have a nightmare that night for the first time in weeks.

I awaken in a cold sweat, struggling to breathe, my heart pounding. Katniss is lying by my side and I feel her stir as I come fully awake.

"Peeta?" I hear her fumbling for the light switch, and suddenly a soft glow emanates from above the bed.

I turn toward her. "Sorry," I whisper.

She reaches her hand out to my face, touching my cheek gently. "It's okay. You woke me before my dream got too bad."

Wordlessly I pull her closer to me and we both lay there silently, just holding each other. Katniss is the first to speak.

"I've been thinking. They're partly right, you know. About needing to get Prim on the stage."

"Not like that, though," I reply, gently stroking her hair.

"No," she agrees. "Not like that. Besides, there's too much to go wrong. Somehow we would have to make sure Effie pulled the right slip, or someone would say something. She can't be deliberately Reaped."

"We need to get her on stage somehow." I frown. But how?

"Prim needs to know what's going on," Katniss says shakily. "And there's only one way to get her up with us where she'll be away from the crowd."

"How?" I ask.

Katniss lets out a half sigh, half sob. "I bring her in on the plan...and tell her to Volunteer."


	27. CHAPTER 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I dive into Chapter 27, I want to take a moment to thank each and every one of you that stuck with this story from start to finish. This tale grew from an idea stuck in my mind to the massive juggernaut that you've all read, commented on, and (hopefully) enjoyed.
> 
> Thank you to honeylime, MTK4FUN, SparklesMartini, sixela872, Supergirl97160, Alliswell, Evereno, deltagirl, sweetproserpina, rainbow_pixel, LovenEverlark12, Loueze, DigDipper, Littlerosie77, SEA10612, RunOn, wouldratherbeaunicorn, worldwithinworld, Pinhead93, Dave, Swanfire, lagoonchilde, TheGreatOrangeDragon,  
> Luker, RayneOnMyWindow, Teana, craftydiva, shannon17, selene2, Tom, WhosJazzy, Cats_Laughing, idle+curiosity, kaelta, disgusted, Sheenianni, Tea4e, este13, t, timtam4ever, KSUHGF, 16Sydd16 and to everyone else that felt compelled to leave a review or to simply send me a kudo, I thank you all. You're my payment for the effort that I've made here.
> 
> I know that this is a long chapter...but it is the last one!
> 
> And now, on to the final chapter!

**CHAPTER 27**

**PART I**

_"Prim?"_

_Primrose Everdeen looks up from her position on her milk stool and smiles at her older sister. Her nanny goat, Lady, bleats plaintively as Prim returns to the task of milking the little goat...now heavy with young, courtesy of a successful mating with the billy goat that Goat Man had sold to the Everdeens._

_Milking Lady was a favorite time of day for Prim. It made her think of simpler times when they always didn't have enough to eat, and it was never quite warm enough in their drafty Seam house in the winter, and her sister Katniss would spend hours each day outside the district perimeter fence, hunting with her best friend, Gale Hawthorne, in the hopes of bagging a stringy rabbit or two, or some scrawny squirrels...trade bait in the Hob._

_Now, they were rich, and always had more than enough to eat, and Prim could give away the goat milk instead of selling it for the few precious coins that she used to get...and still, Prim finds herself wishing that life was like that again, where Katniss would always manage a smile for her, and their nightmares were always about their beloved father, and the Hunger Games was just an abstract fear instead of an everyday reality._

_"Got a minute?" Katniss is asking. One glance at her older sisters' face tells Prim that something is wrong. Peeta Mellark is right. Katniss should never bet at cards...she would lose her last coin for sure._

_"Sure, Katniss," Prim says warmly, even as she wonders what's wrong. Worry has become normal in the Everdeen household...and Prim worries about Katniss constantly._

_Katniss gives Prim another small, tight smile before grabbing a nearby bucket, upending it, and uses it as a makeshift stool. The little billy goat, tied up nearby, butts his head playfully against Katniss's hip until she reaches down and absently scratches between the nubs of his horns._

_"She's getting big," Katniss observes, nodding toward Lady._

_"Few more weeks," Prim replies as she continues to milk the little nanny goat._

_"Any plans for the kids?" Katniss asks._

_Prim shrugs. "I dunno. Maybe see if the Home can take them. They could use some milkers." Prim pauses and looks up at the solemn face of her sister. "Katniss, you didn't come out here to talk about goats. Out with it."_

_Katniss gives her younger sister a fond, sad smile and reaches out to gently stroke a stray lock of blonde hair from Prim's forehead. "You always could see right through me, Little Duck," she whispers. "Yeah, I do need to talk to you about something. Something important."_

_Prim leaves off milking Lady and sits up, facing her sister. "What, Katniss?"_

_Katniss lets out a shaky sigh. "What do you know about the Dark Days?"_

_Prim shrugs. "The Rebellion failed. That's why we have the Games now. Why?"_

_"The Rebellion failed," Katniss says carefully, "but it didn't die. The Rebellion_ lives _, Prim! And we...Peeta and I...are part of it!"_

_Prim feels a cold knot of fear deep in her belly. "Katniss...that's -"_

_"Treason," Katniss finishes. "I know._ We _know. Prim...this is important. Maybe the most important thing that I've ever done. There's gonna be a New Rebellion, Prim! And it starts here...in Twelve!"_

_Prim can feel the knot expand. "Here? It starts here?"_

_"Yes," Katniss replies, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Here." Katniss pauses for a moment. "On Reaping Day."_

_Prim stares at her older sister in mingled awe and disbelief. Katniss...part of a_ Rebellion _? Of course, Prim knew how badly mistreated Katniss had been by the Snow regime...forced into prostitution at the age of sixteen for no other purpose but to allow President Snow to show Katniss exactly who is in charge...and Prim knew that, even without the prostitution, Katniss struggles with each and every day since her Victory. Awful, screaming nightmares have become normal in the Everdeen household. It was awful enough to Volunteer...Katniss lost her best friend, Gale Hawthorne, to the Games...and now she has to deal with his loss on top of everything else._

_Peeta Mellark has helped Katniss immensely...but he, too, has to deal with his own demons. The loss of a leg, the deaths of his father and brother...it's no wonder that he's involved, along with Katniss, in this New Rebellion._

_"Katniss," Prim says carefully, "why are you telling me all this?"_

_Katniss hesitates for a moment, nervously chewing on her lip. "It...Prim, when it starts...it will be...violent. There'll be shooting. The crowd will probably panic. I don't want to see you hurt...or worse...when the riot starts." Katniss looks at her sister lovingly, her eyes glistening with tears. "So we need to get you away from the crowd."_

_Prim listens, wide-eyed, her heart thumping in her chest. Katniss is deadly serious. "How? How are you gonna get me away from the crowd? I'll be with the rest of the fourteen year old girls."_

_"There's only one place that's away from the crowd," Katniss says slowly. "The stage."_

_"The stage?" Prim looks confused. "But I can't be on the stage! The only people that go on the stage are..." Her voice fades as the realization of what Katniss is saying finally sinks in._

_"You're planning on Reaping me?" Prim whispers. "Is that it?"_

_Katniss squeezes her eyes shut, failing to stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks. "No," she says shakily. "No, we can't arrange that. Too much chance of it not working. Oh, Prim...if there were_ any _other way..."_

_"You want me to Volunteer." It was a statement, not a question. Prim's chest suddenly feels tight and her own vision clouds as tears form in her eyes._

_Katniss is crying openly now as she nods miserably. "I...I'm so sorry, Little Duck. But yes. You need to Volunteer. The stage...it's exposed but we're working on making it as safe as possible. It's just that I...I'm so scared that something will happen to you!"_

_Prim lets out a soft sob as her own tears begin to fall. She had already lived through the nightmare of being Reaped, only to be saved from the Games by Katniss. And now she's being_ asked _to Volunteer! But still...this is different. This is to_ keep _her safe. It's a fake...she would never board that awful train and be carted off to a certain death. But, no matter how hard she tries, Prim can't shake the nagging fear._

_"Tell me," she says, standing up and pulling Katniss to her feet, wrapping her arms around her sister tightly. "Tell me that I won't have to get on that train!"_

_Katniss's arms go around her younger sister as she replies softly, "No train. I promise."_

_Prim pulls back and looks into her Katniss's silvery gray eyes. "Promise?"_

_Katniss forces a smile to her face. Gently, she pushes that same stray lock of blonde hair from Prim's forehead. "Promise," she whispers gently._

_Prim takes a deep, shaky breath. "In that case...I Volunteer as Tribute."_

_"I wish there was some other way," Katniss says softly. "I'm so sorry, Prim."_

_"I trust you," Prim replies with a small smile. "But what about Mom? She'll be there too."_

_"Don't worry about Mom," Katniss replies gently. "I have a plan for her as well."_

_"Okay," Prim says, gently disengaging from her sister's arms. "I...I guess I better get back to my milking." She awkwardly wipes her eyes on her coat sleeve, and then laughs softly. "Katniss, you better wipe your face before you go back inside, otherwise Mom's gonna think we've been fighting or something!"_

_"As if that's ever gonna happen," Katniss murmurs as she, too, wipes her face and eyes. "Prim? I love you."_

_Prim smiles and kisses her sister's cheek. "I love you too. And I know that's why you asked me to do this. Now let me finish up with Lady."_

_Katniss smiles sadly at Prim as her sister sits back down on the milking stool. "You're tough, Prim."_

_"I'm an Everdeen," Prim replies softly as she resumes her milking. "It runs in the family."_

**PART II**

"What's the emergency?" I ask as Katniss and I take our seats at the basement table. "All Hazelle would say is that you needed to see us right away."

I survey the faces staring grimly back at me. Haymitch, Jackson, Darius, Silenus Festuca, and Leeg are sitting on one side of the table, with Katniss and I sitting on the other.

Haymitch is the first to speak. "We have a problem," he says with a heavy sigh.

Katniss and I exchange a concerned glance. "What's going on?" Katniss asks.

"The op may have been compromised," Jackson replies coldly.

"What?" I sit bolt upright. Compromised could mean only one thing...that word of what we're planning to do somehow has leaked out. "Compromised by who?"

Jackson regards us coolly for a moment before replying. "By you."

"What?" Katniss almost shouts the word. "Look, I can guarantee that Prim won't say a word about this and -"

"Stop!" Darius barks, holding out one hand. "Did I hear you correctly? You...told...your... _sister_?"

"Oh, fuck," Haymitch grumbles. "This shit just keeps gettin' better n' better."

"I...well...yes," Katniss sputters. "Yes, I told Prim. I had to."

Jackson glances at the others seated on her side of the table. "Well, that explains it."

"Explains what?" I demand. "Will someone please tell us what the fuck is going on here?"

"Very well," Jackson replies, turning to Leeg. "Soldier?"

Leeg hands a small electronic device to Jackson. I recognize it as a digital recorder. Jackson takes it and places it carefully on the table.

"This was recorded two nights ago," she says as she pushes the playback button.

_"Peeta?"_  My eyes widen at the sound of Katniss's voice coming from the small speaker.

_"Sorry,"_  I hear my own voice say softly.

Katniss again.  _"It's okay. You woke me before my dream got too bad."_

There's a pause and the sound of rustling sheets before we hear Katniss's voice again.  _"I've been thinking. They're partly right, you know. About needing to get Prim on the stage."_

_"Not like that, though."_  My voice again.

_"No,"_  the Katniss-voice says.  _"Not like that. Besides, there's too much to go wrong. Somehow we would have to make sure Effie pulled the right slip, or someone would say something. She can't be deliberately Reaped."_

_"We need to get her on stage somehow,"_  Peeta-voice says.

_"Prim needs to know what's going on,"_  Katniss's voice sounds shaky and on the verge of tears.  _"And there's only one way to get her up with us where she'll be away from the crowd."_

_"How?"_  I hear my voice ask.

Katniss-voice again, sounding more upset.  _"I bring her in on the plan...and tell her to Volunteer."_

Jackson reaches out, picks up the small recorder, and angrily punches the "Stop" button.

Katniss and I both exchange wide-eyed looks before turning back to the others.

"Well," Haymitch says laconically, "I guess now you've got proof that the Victors' mansions are bugged."

"It was late," Katniss says defensively, "and Peeta had a nightmare that woke me up. And I hadn't been sleeping very good that night, worrying, and -"

"Stop." Jackson holds up her right hand. She turns to Darius. "Potter?"

"One of 'my' Peacekeepers had Comm room duty that night," Darius explains. "This recording was burned to a flash drive, and the original was erased. No one knows about this except those of us in this room."

I feel the tension drain from my body as Darius speaks. "You had me scared for a minute," I admit.

"Let me tell you somethin' boy," Festuca snarls. "It was only pure dumb fuckin' luck that things worked out the way they did. Anyone else in that Comm room and ain't none of us would be sittin' here right now!"

"He's right," Jackson adds coldly. "But this is bigger than all of us. The  _entire_  Rebellion could have been set back years, by your amateurish carelessness!  _Years_!"

"And now we find that you've actually compromised the op by bringing in an unauthorized individual?" Darius says in amazement.

"She's  _not_  an 'unauthorized individual, Darius!" Katniss snaps. "She's my  _sister_! And I  _had_  to come up with my own plan, and I  _had_  to tell her, because, in all honesty,  _your_  plan sucked!"

"Soldier, you aren't in a position to make decisions," Jackson snaps. "That's not up to you. Your job is to follow orders and -"

" _Fuck your orders!_ " Katniss snarls. " _My_  only concern here, now, and in the future, is the safety of my sister!" Katniss stands up so quickly her chair falls over with a bang. "And  _stop_  calling me 'Soldier!' I'm  _not_  a soldier and I never will be!" Katniss spins and heads for the stairs.

"Stop!" Jackson barks. "We're not finished here yet!" Jackson is literally shaking with rage as she, too, leaps to her feet. "Get back here," she says quietly. "And sit down."

For an instant, Katniss hesitates, her eyes narrowing as she stares back at Jackson. "Fuck you," she finally says, her voice devoid of emotion.

Jackson lunges forward, her face a mask of anger, and grabs Katniss's arm...and is instantly staring at the blade of a knife a hand's breadth from her face.

"Let go of my arm," Katniss says quietly. "Or I'll give you your first taste of what life or death hand to hand combat is really like."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Haymitch says, lurching to his feet and deftly inserting himself between Jackson and Katniss. "Sweetheart, put...the...knife...down." He turns to Jackson. "And Missy, I'd listen to Katniss and let go of her arm. Now."

Jackson is the first to blink. Angrily she releases Katniss's arm. Without another word, Katniss turns and stomps up the stairs, the basement door slamming shut behind her.

Jackson whirls towards me. "Go after her," she commands. "Bring her back here. We're not done!"

"Yes, we are," I say wearily. "And I know Katniss well enough to give her a little space right about now. And stop ordering us around. We're not your soldiers."

"Peeta," Darius says carefully, "Look. We're just concerned about what happened."

"I know," I say softly. "And I'm sorry. It won't happen again. But don't say I didn't warn you. Katniss's number one priority is Prim. Everything else...myself and the Rebellion included...is a distant second. And the quicker that you let that sink in, the better off we'll all be."

"She's lucky that we need her," Jackson mutters. "Otherwise I would've -"

"Missy," Haymitch interrupts her, "You're lucky you ain't dead right now!"

* * *

I'm sure that Jackson was glad that only one of her team was present to witness her confrontation with Katniss. Mitchell and Homes were out with Madge and July, learning the fine art of "blending in."

Well, they may not have seen it, but they sure heard about it. The entire team treated Katniss with a lot more deference after that day in the basement.

The confrontation caused two changes in our lives. The first was the three Victors...Katniss, Haymitch, and myself...agreeing to wear body armor during the Reaping. Credit Leeg for that one. It seems that the District Thirteen team had brought along several sets of very lightweight, easily concealed body armor that Katniss could wear even under the designer number that Cinna had made for her to wear to the Reaping. Leeg called it "smart" armor, because it would conform to the wearer's body shape, which meant that Katniss's breasts would still be evident under her creation by Cinna, instead of being hidden under a bulky...and very evident...ballistic vest.

As always, there were drawbacks. The first was that we would have to wear this armor every day for the better part of two weeks while it "learned and remembered" our body shapes. The second was that it was all but useless against rifle or machine gun bullets, only being effective against relatively low-powered pistol cartridges.

"Even then," Leeg had explained, "you can still be injured from the shock of the bullet striking you. You can end up with cracked or broken ribs and even internal injuries...but the bullet won't penetrate."

Wonderful. But, as Haymitch pointed out, it was better than nothing.

The second change was a personal one between Katniss and I. She stopped spending the night at my house, and began going back to sleep in her own house every night. And it was my idea that she did.

In truth, we couldn't afford more of what Haymitch called "pillow talk incidents." The shock of finding out that our mansions  _really_  were bugged made us question even Haymitch's elaborate security precautions at his own house. It made us wary of talking about anything even remotely connected to the Rebellion, even outside, where we were well away from any of our homes and knew that we weren't being listened in on.

And it's driving a wedge between Katniss and I.

Our lovemaking has declined sharply. I can't say that I blame Katniss. Who wants every moan and groan, every little scream and sigh, to be recorded so that some idiotic Peacekeepers could laugh about it as they listen to us.

It wasn't just the lack of intimacy, though. Katniss pretends that she understands the decision to not have us spend our nights together...but lately her "I love you's" have become rote and perfunctory. The strain of planning for the Reaping Uprising is taking its toll on us both. At seventeen, we're sounding more and more like some old married couple that stays together more out of habit than anything else...like my mother and father.

It still pains me to think of my father. And I feel nothing when I think of my mother.

I find myself wishing every day that I had my father to talk to. He had a knack for looking at problems from a lot of different angles...something that I don't think I will ever be able to master the way that he did. And the biggest problem now is what this Rebellion is doing to Katniss and I.

It would be ironic if we ended up successful in driving Snow from power...only to have Katniss and I drift so far apart that we end up losing each other entirely.

It would almost be funny if I didn't feel like screaming.

**PART III**

"Vulnerable points," Darius is saying, as he stands before us in full Peacekeeper regalia. "The neck and throat, under both arms, and the groin." As he speaks, he points to each area. "The uniform has built-in torso body armor, reinforced elbows and knees, and the helmet and visor combination are designed to absorb impacts."

"Great," Haymitch mumbles. "So we either have to slit their throats or kick 'em in the balls?"

Everyone, including Katniss, chuckles at that remark. It's good to see her smile, even briefly. Even Darius has to crack a smile at that.

"The helmet and visor are  _not_  bulletproof, especially at close range," Darius continues. "And a blow to the head will still ring a few bells, even if it doesn't crack the skull. And don't hesitate to shoot, even if the torso is your only clear target. The bullets may not penetrate, but there's still the full impact of the round that the target has to deal with. That may give you the seconds that you need to finish the job."

"It sounds so...brutal," Madge says softly. "Slitting throats, blows to the head, 'finishing the job.'"

"It is," Darius replies bluntly. "Listen up, all of you. Planning this hasn't been easy for me. Some of these people seem to be just like you and I...they laugh, tell jokes, they're interesting to talk to, and they have hopes, and dreams, and plans once their twenty years are up. I even like some of them." Darius pauses and looks at each of us in turn before he continues. "But if you could spend a night or two in the barracks and listen to how they talk about all of  _you_...'Seam rats,' 'two-legged gophers' - that's one of the nicer terms for a miner - and, for the ladies present, you'll be happy to know that the most flattering thing that most Peacekeepers call you is 'fuck toys.' And I'm being nice."

"He's spot on," the gravelly voice of Silenus Festuca chimes in. "It's ingrained from day one in the academy. Every district except One and Two are filled with subhuman scum, and it's the Peacekeepers sacred duty to enforce the law, brutally if necessary, in order to keep all Panem secure."

"And  _you_  don't feel that way?" Katniss asks archly.

Festuca fixes her with a steely glare. "As a matter o' fact, no. Neither does Potter or his people. We're the minority here, girl. We got brains and can think for ourselves."

"I think we need to clear the air here," Darius continues. "I'm from the Capitol. My family is still there. I'm here to repay a debt...not a personal debt, but a family debt. My grandfather placed a bet on the First Quarter Quell that he couldn't cover and he lost. The family has been paying down his debt for over fifty years. The government takes one quarter of my pay. The other Peacekeepers that are in on this have similar stories...and, like Sergeant Festuca said, we can think for ourselves. Brutality and oppression was not what any of us signed up for. The oath that I took to serve and defend has been perverted beyond recognition."

The room is uncharacteristically silent. That silence was finally broken by Mitchell, who rarely strings more than five words together, as he steps forward, hand outstretched towards Darius, and says, "Glad to have you watching my six."

The tension drains from the room as the two men clasp hands. It's the first direct acknowledgement of the alliance between the soldiers from District Thirteen and the Peacekeepers' Rebel faction.

"Alright," Darius says after Mitchell steps back, "I can't stress this enough. Trust no Peacekeeper except my people. We've worked out a simple method so you can spot us easily. Right after Primrose Everdeen volunteers, we will all raise our face shields. Once the shit hits the fan, each of us will be carrying an armband in our pockets that we will slip onto our left arms. It's blue with the Mockingjay symbol on it in black." He pauses for a moment. "Take no Peacekeeper prisoners. None. If you think that they're surrendering, don't trust them. It's a ruse to get you to lower your guard. Peacekeepers are trained to never surrender. To do so would be to violate their oath to the President and the Capitol and they would be subject to immediate execution. Kill them all by whatever means necessary."

"What if they're wounded?" Madge asks. "Wounded and unable to fight?"

"Then you put them out of their misery," Darius says firmly. "Look. I'm not heartless. And we probably will get some prisoners...Capitol Liaison people, for example. But they aren't an immediate threat. Peacekeepers are. You kill, and you kill without hesitation."

The room was silent as everyone digested what Darius had just said. The enormity of what we are planning is becoming more and more real with each passing day. This isn't civil disobedience. This isn't a work stoppage. This is an armed insurrection against an oppressive government that has a better chance of failing than it does of succeeding, even with the help and support of District Thirteen. And there's a very real chance that some of the people in this very room will die on Reaping Day.

It's Haymitch who finally breaks the silence. "Anything else?"

Jackson stands up. "The hovercraft. The one that monitors the Reaping...it won't be a threat. We'll have a security team in place in the forest outside the perimeter fence on Reaping Day. Once the shit hits the fan their first task will be to eliminate the threat from the hovercraft. They're equipped to deal with aerial threats. They'll be there to assist with the breakout as well."

Haymitch nods. "Okay. Good to know. Anything else?"

There was nothing else. I glance at Katniss. I really want to talk to her, but here is not the time or the place. And so I wait, chafing while everyone leaves one at a time so as not to draw attention to Haymitch's house in particular, and the Village in general. We choose the sequence of who leaves when at random. Today Katniss was number two.

Today, I'm the last.

* * *

When I leave I don't head back across the Green to my house. Instead I go directly to the Everdeen house and knock firmly on the door.

Katniss answers, much to my surprise. Usually it's Prim or Mrs. Everdeen. Katniss is obviously surprised to see me standing there. "Peeta," she murmurs. "Uhh...hi."

"Do you have a couple of minutes?" I ask.

Katniss hesitates for a moment. "I...I'm really tired. I was just going to..."

"Two minutes," I repeat, and then add, "please."

Katniss looks at me for a moment with slightly narrowed eyes. "Okay."

Katniss steps outside and carefully shuts the door behind her. I reach down to take her hand and, for a moment, I feel her fingers stiffly resist my own, until her hand suddenly relaxes and her fingers twine with my own. Together we walk out into the Green, which, true to its name, is green once again.

"So, what is it you want, Peeta?" Katniss asks softly.

"I'm worried," I reply just as softly.

Katniss sighs. "Me too. This whole thing, and with Prim Volunteering, and I just know it's not gonna go as planned, and -"

"I'm worried about you...and me," I cut in bluntly.

Katniss looks at me sharply. "Is  _that_  what you wanted to talk to me about? You and me? With everything else that's going on? That's so...so -"

"Selfish," I finish for her. "Yeah. I know. I'm a selfish prick because I'm worried about losing you while we're so busy fighting for a Free Panem. Katniss, what good is it to fight a war to defeat Snow if I lose  _you_  in the process?"

"Who said anything about losing anybody?" Katniss shoots back.

I stop walking and turn to face her, placing my hands on her shoulders, her silvery-gray eyes blazing defiantly back at me. "Look at us. We barely talk anymore. And when we do...we really don't."

"It was  _your_  idea, remember!" I can feel Katniss stiffen under my hands. " _Your_  idea to not have us spend nights together! And as for the  _other_...I don't want to be some Peacekeeper's entertainment!"

"You're right," I reply softly. "It was my idea. I was worried that something would happen...that one of us would say something that  _would_  get back to Thread. But it's something that I intend to stop, beginning with the first night after the uprising." I lift one hand and run my fingers gently over her cheek. "You've no idea how much I've missed you."

"Oh, I don't?" Katniss asks softly, lifting her hand up to grasp mine firmly. "I miss you just as much." She gently kisses my hand. "And I miss...that," she adds, color rising to her face. "I miss the closeness afterwards," she whispers. "The tenderness that you show me. The way that I feel safe when you hold me."

Suddenly Katniss lets go of my hand to wrap her arms tightly around my neck. "Hold me, Peeta," she murmurs. I slide my arms around her slender body and feel her trembling ever so slightly against me.

"I love you," I breathe into her ear. In response I feel her arms tighten around my neck.

"I love you, too," Katniss replies breathily. Her response is neither rote nor perfunctory. Every word is filled with emotion.

Katniss lifts her face up to mine and kisses me softly, and then she reaches into her shirt and pulls out the gold chain with the pearl. "I never take it off," she whispers.

In response, I kiss her again. After a moment, Katniss squirms uncomfortably. "I wish I could take  _this_ off, though," she says, scratching ineffectually at her side.

I know exactly what she's referring to. My "smart" armor itches just as badly. "Just a few more days," I assure her.

"I need a break from it right now," Katniss says with a small smile. "And I desperately need some... _closeness_  from you."

"Me too," I admit, feeling my excitement begin to stir. "But where?"

"Feel like taking a walk to the Seam?" She asks.

"I thought you were tired," I gently tease.

"I changed my mind," she replies, her color rising once more. She reaches down and slips her hand into mine once more. "Come on," she says insistently, turning towards the Village entrance.

I willingly follow.

* * *

It's been far too long.

Once we arrived at her old house in the Seam we barely make it to her mother's old room before dropping our clothes...and the hated "smart" armor...on the wood floor. Our lovemaking was brief and frantic...spurred by our enforced celibacy and the urgency of what we knew was going to happen soon.

Afterwards, we rest in each other's arms for a bit, dozing lightly, before we start again. This time, we both take our time, using fingers, lips, and tongues on each other before Katniss finally rolls on top of me and moves gently against me until we both climax. She collapses on top of me with a quavering, satisfied sigh and once again we hold each other close, neither of us talking...neither of us  _needing_ to talk.

Katniss finally breaks the silence. "I spoke with Leeg. About watching out for my mother once...you know," she says carefully. We're reasonably sure that the Seam house is bug-free.

Reasonably sure...but why take an unnecessary risk?

"She okay with that?" I ask.

"Yeah. As long as she is still able to do her job." Katniss shifts around a bit, laying her head on my chest. I feel her cheek rise in a smile. "I can hear your heart beating."

"I think it's slowed down a bit," I chuckle.

I shiver as Katniss gently nips my nipple with her teeth. "Oops...I think it just sped up again."

I sigh in response, fighting down another wave of desire, glancing toward the window as the late afternoon sun begins to peek through the worn curtains. We'll have to head back shortly. "I haven't asked how your sister is doing."

Katniss sighs softly. "Okay...considering."

I gently stroke Katniss's hair. "Katniss...it'll be okay."

"I know." There's no conviction in her voice. She's worried sick. A stray bullet...or a deliberately aimed one, once the Peacekeepers realize exactly why Prim Volunteered...and Primrose Everdeen will die. Katniss and I will do our best to keep her behind us, shielding her with our bodies, but there's no guarantee that she'll come through this unscathed.

There's one more problem. What about Effie Trinket? She'll be vulnerable too, and she won't have a clue as to what's going on. Truthfully I have no idea how she'll react. Will she immediately seek protection from the Peacekeepers, or will she side with us? The only thing that I'm sure of is that she'll need to be protected by someone.

"We should go," Katniss says with a sigh, even as she gently untangles her arms and legs from mine and sits up.

"Yeah, I know." My sigh echoes hers. We dress quickly, in silence. The last thing Katniss does is to carefully slip the pearl under her shirt. The only sound Katniss makes is a soft chuckle as I carefully double-knot my shoelaces. I smile up at her in return, shrugging my shoulders sheepishly.

We slip out of the house together. Katniss carefully closes and locks the door behind her.

Neither of us knows it at the time...but this would be the last time we would be in this house.

Ever.

**PART IV**

Today I'm saying goodbye.

Not to people, or even to places. I'm saying goodbye to the dead.

I've already visited the graves of my father and brother. I spend most of my time apologizing to them again for not being able to save them. I ask them both...my father especially...why they have never visited me like Gale and Gamma.

The stone doesn't answer.

I visit Gale and Gamma next. I reflect that, if things go as planned tomorrow, they will be the last two ever buried in Tribute Gardens.  _And how come you two haven't visited me in a while? Still pissed at me, Gale? Better things to do, Gamma? Or have you told me everything that you needed to tell me? I wish things could have been different. I wish I could have gotten to know you both, outside the Games._  I shake my head and smile ruefully.  _But, without the Games, you both would have ended up in the mines, and I would still be working in the bakery. And Katniss would be..._

I know where Katniss would be. Katniss would most likely be with Gale, now that she's eighteen and would have been completely out of school by now. And there would be four more kids buried here in the Gardens instead of two. Would Gamma have been Reaped? I shake my head. It's useless to speculate on what might have happened.

Besides, Gale and Gamma don't answer.

I sigh and slowly turn away from the graves.  _Goodbye, my friends. Visit me once in a while. I actually miss you in some strange way._

I make my way back to the Village. There's still a lot to do before tomorrow.

* * *

The Tribute Train arrived earlier today and Effie has been a virtual whirlwind of activity, brimming with excitement at my "first Games as a Mentor! How thrilling!" She went on and on about the possibilities of a "three-peat" for District Twelve, and lamenting that the odds of that were definitely not in our favor.

She was also disappointed that she wasn't able to visit the bakery, as it is still under construction. Snow has upheld his end of our agreement, but, of course, he never said how long it would take to complete construction. Not a high enough priority, I guess.

I have to hand it to Katniss, though. She's putting on the performance of a lifetime. During our first meeting with Effie, she played the part of second-year Mentor perfectly, even affecting annoying Capitol mannerisms such as air-kissing Effie in the general vicinity of her cheeks, gushing over Effie's color choices this year (a combination of my sunset orange and Katniss's forest green favorites), and just generally giving Effie the impression that she's totally "in the moment."

Poor Effie. Reality will be such a huge shock to her. And I find myself actually caring what she thinks of all of us once the uprising begins.

Of course, nothing is ever easy. Plutarch Heavensbee, not entirely trusting that his tech wizards will be able to keep the Reaping broadcast airing once the shit hits the fan, has sent an insurance policy to conduct a shadow broadcast. We know his backup resident director quite well.

Her name is Cressida.

* * *

"Why  _her_?" Katniss all but snarls, her face a carefully constructed mask of impassivity.

Haymitch, Katniss, and I are standing in the Green while Cressida and her crew work on setting up a few generic stock shots of the three of us together. These shots will be followed by quick interviews with the three of us.

"Sweetheart, I have a message for you from Plutarch," Haymitch replies. "It's seven carefully chosen words: 'Suck it up and deal with it.' He's well aware of your objections. That being said, Cressida, Messalla, Castor, and Pollux are not only one of the best crews in the Capitol, their loyalty to the cause is beyond question." Haymitch's voice softens a bit. "Look, you don't have to like her. Just work with her. Okay?"

Katniss glares at Haymitch for a moment. "Fine," she replies flatly.

Cressida approaches us at that moment. "Uhh...we're all set here," she says. "A few stills, some video of the three of you together, and a very brief series of questions. Okay?"

We murmur our assent, and, for the next twenty or thirty minutes, plaster fake smiles on our faces as Cressida and her crew do their job. Even Katniss manages to sound witty and charming while answering Cressida's questions.

It's probably a good thing that the cameras are unable to pick up the cold glint in Katniss's eyes while she talks with Cressida.

"Okay," Cressida finally says. "That'll do it. We'll see you all tomorrow...at the Reaping."

Katniss immediately turns towards Haymitch and I. "I'm going home," she announces. "I need to...need to..."

Haymitch nods solemnly. "Okay, Sweetheart," he murmurs. Katniss catches my eye and I give her what I hope to be a reassuring smile and a nod. Katniss steps forward and gives Haymitch a quick kiss on his cheek, and another, more lingering kiss on my mouth.

"See you later," she whispers, and then turns to go. I place my hand on her shoulder.

"Katniss." She stops. "Come over tonight, if you...I mean, in case you..."

Katniss reaches up and covers my hand with her own. "I'll try." I give her shoulder a gentle squeeze before I let go and watch her walk back to her house.

"You okay, kid?" Haymitch asks gently.

I half nod, half shake my head. "Yes. No. Shit. I don't know." I turn towards Haymitch. "I have the same feeling in my gut now that I did last year before I went into the arena."

"If it makes you feel better," Haymitch says with a crooked grin, "I'm scared shitless too."

I can't help but return Haymitch's grin. All the weeks...the months...of tension and planning, of secret meetings in Haymitch's basement...everything was building up to the climax tomorrow. And here's Haymitch, joking and seemingly relaxed. And he's been involved with this for over twenty  _years_.

" _There_  you are, boys!" Effie Trinket's voice trills. Haymitch and I both glance in the direction of her voice and see her hurrying across the Green towards us. She pauses briefly for a quick hello to Cressida and her crew before continuing on to Haymitch and I.

"Hey, Effie," I say with a smile, trying desperately to sound casual. "What's up?"

Effie stops in front of Haymitch and I and gives us both a mysterious smile. "Well, something for you and Katniss, Peeta! After all, these Games are as much about the two latest Mentors as they are about the Tributes!"

"I don't follow you," I admit.

"It  _was_ your birthday recently, wasn't it?" Effie asks. "And didn't Katniss celebrate a birthday recently also? The eighteenth for you both, I believe?"

"Last month," I confirm.

"Well, that's a big deal!" Effie continues. "In the Capitol, it means that you are now an adult! So, I was thinking about an appropriate celebration once we arrive in the Capitol. What do you think? By the way, where  _is_  Katniss anyway?"

"She went home to spend time with her family before we leave tomorrow," Haymitch says firmly. "In other words, Princess, don't bother her."

"Besides," I add hastily, "A big birthday celebration has never been a tradition here in Twelve." I don't add that, for district residents, the best thing about turning eighteen is the fact that you only have one more Reaping to live through.

Effie looks unconvinced. "No matter," she says cheerfully. "We'll discuss it on the train tomorrow. All right then, boys, I will see you in the morning! Get some rest tonight, we have a big, big, big, big day tomorrow!"

Haymitch and I watch her totter away on those impossibly high heels. "She doesn't have a clue," I mutter. "Not a clue."

"No, she doesn't," Haymitch agrees. "She's an even worse actress than Katniss."

"What happens with Effie tomorrow?" I ask.

Haymitch looks at me in surprise. "We take her with us. That's a no-brainer. Otherwise, we might as well shoot her ourselves."

"Do you think the Peacekeepers would hurt her?" The thought of Effie being mistreated by Peacekeepers was unsettling, to say the least.

"Kid, Snow's bound to retaliate," Haymitch explains patiently. "Once he figures out what's going on, he's gonna hit back, and hit back hard. And, as far as he's concerned, everyone in Twelve will be an enemy."

"Even the Capitol people?" I ask softly.

"Even them." Haymitch looks grim. "He'll probably execute any surviving Peacekeepers for failing to die in the line of duty. As for the rest, well, it's anyone's guess. Effie would most likely end up as an Avox, at the very least. It would be kinder if we shot her ourselves."

"What about the others?" I ask. "Capitol Liaison and people like that?"

"Fuck them," Haymitch replies in a flat voice. "I don't owe any of 'em shit. If they wanna come along, it's as prisoners. And remember, we don't take Peacekeepers prisoners."

I nod in understanding. "But Effie you feel you owe something to?"

Haymitch nods. "It's complicated, kid. But yeah...I owe her something."

Haymitch wouldn't elaborate on exactly what he feels he owes Effie. But, in traditional Seam fashion, he is bound and determined to repay her.

* * *

I lie awake, staring up at the ceiling. The moonlight is filtering in from outside, bathing my room in a soft, silvery light. I close my eyes, willing my brain to shut off long enough for me to fall asleep.

But of course it doesn't.

I roll over with a disgusted sigh and glance at the softly glowing face of my bedside clock. 12:50. I'll have to get up in a few hours even if I don't get any sleep.

_This is worse than the night before launch. At least then I wasn't sure what to expect._

I packed a small bag earlier. A backpack, actually...something I can carry and leave my hands free. A few mementos...my spile, my sketchbook, a box of pencils, a picture of my father. The knife that I kept from the arena I will be carrying with me tomorrow, in the small of my back. There are two other knives sitting on the dresser, courtesy of Silenus Festuca. I'll strap one to each wrist when I get dressed. My jacket sleeves will conceal both quite effectively.

I have everything that I need. Everything...except Katniss.

I had gone to her house earlier in the evening. Prim had answered the door. I could tell that she had been crying. I looked at her and raised my eyebrows -  _you okay?_  - and she had nodded, once.

I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile and asked her if I could see Katniss, but Katniss had heard us and was already on the way. We didn't talk for long...I could tell that Katniss had been crying as well...but all I had wanted to do was to see her one last time before...before tomorrow.

Katniss had hugged me, and kissed me tenderly, and had cried softly and apologized and said that she was sorry, but she had to stay with Prim. And so I smiled and kissed her back and told her that I understood, and went home, and tried without luck to fall asleep.

I glance at the clock again. 1:23. At this rate I'll be nice and exhausted for tomorrow. I wonder if Jackson and the others are having as much trouble as I am. I wonder if -

What was that? The sound of my front door opening and then closing followed by light footsteps carefully climbing my stairs. I lay in the darkness as I hear my bedroom door open, and then quietly close. A brief rustling of clothing hitting the floor, the slight sag on one side of the bed, and the feel of a soft, warm body pressed close to me.

I don't move, even when Katniss slides her arm possessively over my chest. Instead, I whisper, "Why are you here?"

"You needed me," Katniss whispers back.

I turn slightly until I'm facing her. "What about Prim?" I whisper.

"She's sleeping with Mom. And you didn't have anyone tonight. So here I am." I feel the bed shift slightly as Katniss raises her face up to mine to kiss me.

"I'm glad you're here," I murmur.

"Me too," Katniss replies just as softly. "Maybe now we can both get some sleep."

I sigh and pull her close. "I know I will, if you stay with me."

Katniss snuggles against my chest and whispers a single word.

"Always."

**PART V**

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," Mayor Undersee intones solemnly. Seated behind him, I can't see his face.  _Do you know? Did Madge tell you?_

I nervously glance to my right. Katniss is sitting next to me, with Haymitch to her right. We have her sandwiched nicely in the middle. There's one more empty chair to the left of mine...the Mayor's chair, now unoccupied. Effie is standing off to one side, patiently waiting for the Mayor to finish so that she may step forward and complete the Reaping.

I'm immensely thankful that Katniss had spent the night with me. Her presence calmed me and both of us had been able to sleep, uninterrupted, for several hours. But, she had returned to her house after we both had awakened and my anxiety has been building ever since.

Now, I can't look at a Peacekeeper and wonder if I will see a raised visor and an armband. I can't look toward the far side of the square at the squad of Peacekeepers seated at the check-in tables, with Jackson and the rest of her soldiers standing surreptitiously close behind...knowing that, if everything goes as planned, that this entire squad would be among the first to die.

From where I sit I can only see the tops of the helmets of the "Glamour" squad.  _Which one is it? Who's the Rebel?_  I've been driving myself crazy for the past couple of hours wondering who are the Rebels among the assembled Peacekeepers...and who are the unlucky ones that must die.

I feel Katniss gently squeeze my knee and I look up at her as she gives me a quick reassuring smile. Outwardly she's projecting complete calm.  _How are you doing it, Katniss?_

Even as I watch I see Katniss's smile fade and I turn my attention back to the front of the stage, where Effie is now positioned in front of the microphone.

"Welcome, welcome! Happy Hunger Games!" Effie's voice echoes throughout the Square. "And may the odds be  _ever_  in your favor!"

Here it comes. "And, as always, ladies first!" Effie crosses over to the glass bowl containing the slips of every District Twelve girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen and plunges her hand deep inside. She swirls her hand around dramatically before she latches onto one and pulls it from the bowl with a flourish.

Effie crosses back across the stage to the microphone and rips the slip open, pulling the edges apart as she raises the paper up and reads, "Justina Elliott!"

I know this girl. Her parents run the outfitters that caters to all of the miners in the district. I watch as the crowd of seventeen-year-old girls parts and a crying girl with dark blonde hair emerges and is immediately flanked by a team of burly Peacekeepers.

I wait for Prim's voice as Justina slowly makes her way toward the stage.  _Come on, Prim,_ I say to myself.  _Come on, come on, come on._  I glance at Katniss and see her lips compressed in a thin, bloodless line as Justina approaches ever nearer.

Was Prim going to wait until Effie called for Volunteers? That makes absolutely no sense. She wasn't in any danger of actually having to board the Tribute Train and -

"I Volunteer."

Primrose Everdeen's faint, high-pitched voice barely makes it to the stage. A murmur immediately rises from the crowd as Prim pushes her way through the crowd of fourteens and steps into view.

"Primrose?" Effie gasps in astonishment. "Primrose Everdeen?"

Justina and her escort immediately stop and turn to stare at Prim in surprise. Prim, her hands balled into small fists at her side, takes two steps forward and repeats her earlier statement, louder and more clearly this time.

"I Volunteer," she says, her voice ringing out clearly. "I Volunteer as Tribute!"

* * *

Silence.

For a few moments, the only sound is the clicking of the Peacekeepers' boots on the pavement as they escort Prim to the stage. Prim is walking steadily, her chin held high, her single blonde braid bouncing slightly with each step. Only her clenched fists belie just how frightened she really is.

In spite of my own rising fear, I can't help but smile.  _There's no doubt. Prim is an Everdeen, through and through._

I quickly glance at Katniss. Her lips are compressed in a thin, bloodless line as she slowly rises from her seat. She's as scared as I am, but I see something else in her eyes as she slowly walks to the microphone.

Determination.

A low, rustling murmur rises from the crowd as Prim draws ever nearer to the stage. They're confused...Prim only had three slips in the Reaping Bowl, and, to the best of anyone's knowledge, she barely knew Justina, who is now standing to one side, shock and confusion on her face...so why Volunteer?

"Peeta?" Mayor Undersee's voice is filled with confusion, and I jump a little. I had almost forgotten about him sitting here. "What's going on? Why did Primrose Everdeen  _Volunteer_?"

"You're about to find out, Mayor Undersee," I whisper as I, too, rise to my feet and join Katniss at the microphone.

Effie is still standing at the microphone when Katniss and I step forward. Prim is just beginning to mount the steps to the stage as Effie glances first at Katniss, then at I, her confusion evident on her face.

"Katniss," Effie stammers, as she turns back to face Katniss, "Wh...what's going on? Why did Primrose Volunteer?"

"Don't worry, Effie," Katniss murmurs. "Everything is all right."

Prim is now standing on the stage next to Katniss, while Katniss and I flank Effie. I glance over at Prim and, even from a couple of meters away; I can see that she's trembling with fear.  _I wonder how Mrs. Everdeen is handling this,_  I say to myself. I quickly scan the crowd, now muttering louder and shifting around uneasily, but I can't locate her. What I do see is one of the Peacekeepers in the team that escorted Prim to the stage very deliberately raise his face shield, revealing a dark face that I recognize as one of the Peacekeepers that had accompanied Romulus Thread to District Twelve.

_I wonder what Thread would think if he knew that one of his "hand picked" Peacekeepers is a Rebel?_  I turn my attention to the "Glamour" Squad and see, all the way at the end of the line, a Peacekeeper that I recognize with face shield raised. Purnia and I make brief eye contact as her hand casually drops to the butt of her holstered pistol.

"Prim, go sit next to Haymitch," Katniss murmurs quietly. Prim, her eyes wide, nods and moves toward the line of chairs.

"You too, Effie." Effie turns to me, her face a mask of confusion.

"What...Peeta, I don't understand! I need to...need to..." Effie gestures towards the bowl with the boys' names.

"Effie," I mutter urgently, " _please_  go sit down!" Confused, Effie totters back to her seat and stiffly takes her seat.

"What the  _fuck_  do you think you're doing?" Sergeant Bellatrix Breccia glares up at the stage from her position with the "Glamour" Squad. She's at the opposite end of the line from Purnia, where she, too, has raised her face shield...not as a signal, of course. And she's too far away for Purnia to have a clean shot at her. Dammit.

Katniss ignores her as she steps to the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen," she says smoothly, "there's been a slight change of plans regarding today's Reaping." As I listen to Katniss speak, I see Pollux, at my far left, and Castor, at the far right, both actively recording. Cressida is standing to Katniss's right, carefully positioning herself so that she won't obstruct Castor's view. Messalla is with Pollux, off to the left.

"I must inform you," Katniss continues, her voice quavering ever so slightly, "that today's Reaping will not come to its usual conclusion. In fact, neither will the Games. I now give notice that the Hunger Games are hereby cancelled, now and forever. Today marks a new day for the people of Panem. Today marks the beginning of the end of President Snow. Today marks the beginning of the Revolution...and freedom for all!"

No sooner did the last word leave Katniss's mouth than a series of crackling pops erupt, seemingly from all around me. I fumble for the knife strapped to my left wrist while trying to keep an eye on the rapidly building pandemonium that's beginning to erupt all around the stage. I see, off to my left, Purnia casually raise her pistol and begin to shoot the other Peacekeepers in the "Glamour" Squad, starting with the one closest to her.

_Pop, pop, pop_. Three Peacekeepers fall to the ground limply, like rag dolls. Screams of fright now begin to rise from the crowd as panic grips the people nearest the growing carnage. Even as I pull my knife I see, at the opposite side of the square, Jackson and her team simultaneously raise their pistols.  _Pop pop poppop poppoppoppop._ The Peacekeepers at the check-in table slump forward lifelessly, caught completely by surprise. Only two had managed to even begin to rise to their feet before bullets to the backs of their heads drop them back down again for good.

_They sound like firecrackers. I thought they would be louder_. I watch as Jackson and her team step forward, efficiently stripping the gun belts from the Peacekeepers that they had just so ruthlessly executed. There's a commotion to the front of the stage as the remaining Peacekeepers in the "Glamour" Squad finally begin to react. I see the dark skinned Rebel Peacekeeper that was with Prim's escort shooting also, as people begin to run in every direction, frantic to escape the growing battle.

The shouts and screams continue, as do the sounds of the gunshots. I see smoke billowing from an upper story window in the building across the Square...July Barrow's kids had done their job. The machine gun on the back building stutters to life, shooting at Snow only knows what...only to be silenced after a few seconds by a series of sharp  _cracks_  from above and behind me. Darius must have succeeded in killing the others in his team and has quickly and, using his sniper rifle, efficiently silenced the other gun as well.

And, all the while, Katniss has not moved so much as a centimeter away from her position at the microphone. She's saying something now, but, even amplified, her words barely penetrate the cacophony of the riot that continues to build just below us. I manage to make out a few words - "fight," "free Panem," and "uprising" among them - and I marvel at the courage that she's displaying now. And then I hear other words...spoken not from Katniss's lips, but from a point directly below the stage...two words that chill my soul.

_"Traitorous bitch!"_

In the melee I had almost forgotten about Peacekeeper Sergeant Bellatrix Breccia. And now, it's obvious that she hasn't forgotten about us. Her face is twisted into a mask of rage as she deliberately raises her pistol in both hands, even as I raise my knife and shout a warning.

_"Katniss!"_  And, as I draw my arm back, I realize that there's no way for me to throw before Breccia pulls her trigger...and, on the stage, Katniss is open and totally exposed. I scream as Breccia begins to fire, even as my arm whips forward. My knife leaves my hand just as the gun in Breccia's hands fires, I see Katniss fall backwards...and there's a sudden, blonde-haired blur to our front as Breccia's gun barks twice more.

Forgotten is the growing riot. The sound of shouts, screams, and gunshots fades to a mumbling roar coming from all around me as I drop to my knees next to Katniss's supine body. Katniss's eyes are wide open, staring at the brilliant blue sky above us, as her mouth works frantically and her hands clutch her chest.

_"Katniss!"_  Prim's voice now joins mine as the younger Everdeen drops down next to Katniss and her hands immediately begin to work at prying Katniss's own clutching fingers from her chest. Katniss's mouth continues to work until, suddenly, a loud gasp explodes from her and she groans loudly.

"Katniss!" Prim shouts.  _"Katniss!_  Move your hands, Katniss!" Katniss stares up at Prim uncomprehendingly as Prim continues to tug at Katniss's hands, until Katniss's arms unexpectedly go limp, and Prim pulls Katniss's hands away from her chest, to reveal a neat hole in her Cinna-designed dress, revealing the damaged, but still serviceable, body armor underneath.

Katniss coughs, moans, and coughs again as her eyes focus on her sister. "Prim? What..." She tries to sit up and is gently forced back down by Prim, who, along with me, is simultaneously laughing and crying.

"Body armor!" I shout. "Your body armor!"

"Peeta?" Katniss's eyes focus on me. "What? Armor?" She tries to sit up again, moans, and collapses back. "Shit. Hurts."

I turn to Prim, remembering what we had been told about body armor. "Check underneath," I tell her. Prim nods, inserts her fingers in the hole in the dress made by the bullet, and pulls, tearing the expensive fabric.  _Sorry, Cinna_ , I say to myself as Prim examines the divot in the armor made by the bullet.

"Does it hurt when you breathe?" Prim asks Katniss. Katniss nods, once. Prim looks back at me. "She had her breath knocked out and probably has a cracked rib."

"I'm fine," Katniss mutters and tries to sit up again. This time, she manages to raise herself up on her elbows. "See? I'm..." she begins, before her eyes widen and her voice trails off.

I turn in the direction that Katniss is looking and manage to choke out  _"No!"_  as I pivot around to see Cressida, with Messalla kneeling next to her, laying half on her side in a growing pool of her own blood.

* * *

Even as I move toward Cressida, I see Messalla raise his tear-streaked face toward Castor, then at Pollux, and snap, "Keep recording!"

Both cameramen, who had been moving toward Messalla and the fallen Cressida, stop instantly and continue to train their cameras on the growing chaos erupting around us. I can now see Cressida's face...her eyes closed, her mouth and chin splattered with blood, stray locks of her blonde hair resting in the growing pool of crimson beneath her. I glance down at her chest and see two neat holes, a hands breadth apart, bubbling blood in a regular rhythm.

Still alive. Somehow, she's still alive. A voice then calls my name. "Peeta!" I glance behind me to where Leeg now stands, looking out of place in her "traditional" District Twelve clothing, and with her is Mrs. Everdeen, looking shocked, frightened, and confused. Leeg has buckled a Peacekeeper gun belt around her waist, and is clutching a carbine in one hand.

"Where's Katniss?" Leeg asks in alarm.

"Here." Katniss appears by my side, wincing slightly. "I'm right here." She notices her mother for the first time. "Mom! Up here! We need help!"

"Are you okay?" I ask, my voice full of concern and worry for her.

"I'll live," she replies grimly as she stares down at Cressida's lax, ashen face. Behind Katniss I can see Mrs. Everdeen climbing the steps to the stage. Beyond that, out of the corner of my eye, Leeg pauses next to a white-clad body sprawled out on the pavement in front of the stage, and then bends down, grasping the hilt of my knife, and, with a single tug, pulls it neatly from the bleeding eye-socket of the now-dead Bellatrix Breccia.

It had been a snap throw, and the best that I had ever made. And it had come two seconds too late.

Leeg casually wipes the blade off on Breccia's trouser leg before turning and handing it to me. "Thanks," I mutter, gingerly taking the knife by the hilt and sliding it back into its sheath on my wrist.

In response, Leeg nods once, and then her face contorts and she barely has time to turn her head before she vomits loudly. She turns back to me sheepishly, wiping the back of one trembling hand over her mouth. "Sorry," she mutters. "This...it's nothing like I thought it would be."

I nod, once. Leeg looks like she's about to say something else before Mitchell, from the center of the square, calls out her name. Leeg turns and waves, once, before turning back to me. "I gotta go," she says apologetically. "I'll see you later."

As she turns to trot away I feel a hand tug at my arm. "Peeta," Prim is saying. "Your knife. I need your knife." I nod and reach my left hand under my right sleeve, pulling out the other knife that Goat Man had given me...this one unsullied by human blood...and hand it to her.

Prim immediately turns away and begins cutting Cressida's shirt open. Her fingers move swiftly and surely as she quickly exposes the bubbling wounds. Mrs. Everdeen is cutting strips of cloth from the bottom of her own dress with another knife...Katniss's, I realize...while Katniss is doing something that I never in a million years thought I would ever see her do.

She's cradling Cressida's head in her lap...and she's crying.

* * *

"Get outta my light," Mrs. Everdeen snaps at Messalla as she kneels next to Cressida's bleeding body. Without a word, Messalla steps to one side, absently wiping his bloody hands on his pants as Mrs. Everdeen and Prim grimly work on Cressida.

Prim carefully folds a strip of cloth into a rectangle, somewhat larger than my outstretched hand, and then carefully lays it across both bullet holes. Mrs. Everdeen moves in with another strip of cloth...this one cut from the bottom of Prim's dress, I notice...and lays it across the makeshift dressing.

"Lift her up, Katniss," Mrs. Everdeen commands. Katniss, still crying softly, carefully lifts Cressida's head and shoulders, causing a wheezy moan to escape Cressida's lips as Mrs. Everdeen quickly wraps the homemade bandage around Cressida's chest, and then ties it off directly over the dressing.

Mrs. Everdeen watches the dressing carefully for a few moments, groaning in frustration as blood begins to bubble through the cloth. She looks around frantically. "I need a piece of plastic," she says. "Big enough to cover the dressing."

I look around the stage. Plastic? Where are we supposed to find a piece of plastic?

"Excuse me," a soft voice behind me makes me jump. I spin around, jerking the knife from my wrist sheath in a single smooth motion.

"Easy, Peeta," Mayor Undersee says. I had completely forgotten about him, and I slowly relax. The past few minutes have made me nervous and jumpy. "I heard what you said, Una. About needing plastic." The Mayor extends his right hand. In it was the copy of the Treaty of Treason that he reads at the Reaping every year...encased in a plastic document protector.

"Perfect!" Mrs. Everdeen says, snatching the plastic-encased Treaty from the Mayor's outstretched hand. "Just what we need!" She turns back to Cressida. "Prim?"

Prim has another makeshift dressing and bandage ready...these, I see, were cut from the bottom of Katniss's dress...and, first ripping the copy of the Treaty out of the protector and tossing the paper aside, carefully lays the plastic over the first dressing before covering that with the second square of cloth.

"Katniss?" Mrs. Everdeen says. Wordlessly, Katniss lifts Cressida's limp body up once again as Mrs. Everdeen wraps the bandage around the bleeding woman before tying it off securely.

Mrs. Everdeen and Prim watch the second dressing intently before settling back. Prim looks at her mother, the relief apparent on her face. "It's holding."

Mrs. Everdeen shakes her head. "I don't know how she's still alive. I'm pretty sure one of her lungs has collapsed and she's lost a lot of blood."

I stare down at Katniss, who's still kneeling next to Cressida, cradling the older woman's head in her lap. She's stopped crying now but her face is streaked with tears. Katniss looks back up at me. "Why? Why did she do it? After the awful, shitty way that I've treated her!  _Why?_ "

I shake my head. "She...Katniss, I don't think she was ever angry with you." I shrug my shoulders helplessly. "Maybe this was her way of telling you how sorry she is for what happened."

Katniss looks like she's about to say something else, but then she turns back to Cressida. For the first time since it all started, I look around the Square.

Dead Peacekeepers litter the Square, along with more than a few District residents. A few others are sitting up, cradling wounded limbs, or painfully making their way through the Square, either alone or with family members or friends helping them. I can still hear sporadic gunfire coming from the general direction of the train station. I quickly glance around the stage and, for the first time, I notice that someone's missing.

"Where's Haymitch?" I ask.

"He left," Effie replies, her voice wooden, devoid of emotion. To my surprise she's still sitting exactly where she was when the shit hit the fan. "After Cressida was shot. He took off that way." Effie points off in the direction of the Capitol Liaison offices. "Oh, Peeta," Effie says sadly. "What have you  _done_?"

How do I answer this woman, who's been raised in the opulence of the Capitol, who has never before known what it's like to be hungry, or cold, or frightened beyond belief on Reaping Day? How do I explain to her what we have started here on this day?

I step forward, dropping to a knee in front of Effie, who continues to look at me with infinitely sad eyes. "Changes need to be made, Effie," I murmur as I slip my knife back in its wrist sheath and take her hands in mine. "Changes that benefit everyone...district and Capitol alike."

"Changes," Effie repeats. "At what cost, Peeta?" She asks, nodding towards Cressida.

"Changes that Cressida felt strongly enough about to -" I almost say, "to die for," but I can't bring myself to utter the words. "- to risk her own life for."

Effie shakes her head sadly. "I don't understand." She glances up, looking over my shoulder. "Here comes Haymitch. Maybe he can make me understand."

I glance over my shoulder. Sure enough, Haymitch was walking across the Square...and he was pushing someone along in front of him. It takes me a moment to recognize the impeccably dressed, gaunt figure.

The Mine Company Doctor.

Haymitch has a firm grip on the man's collar, and, with his free hand, is holding a knife to his throat. He pushes the man up the stairs roughly, stopping a pace or two from Cressida's wounded body.

"There's your patient, doc," Haymitch snarls. "Now get to work."

I have to hand it to the doctor. He is quite obviously terrified, but he has a set of balls on him. "I'll not be a party to treason," he says, his voice quivering only slightly.

In response, Haymitch casually nicks the man's earlobe with the point of his knife, causing the doctor to yelp in pain. "You have exactly three seconds to reconsider. I don't give a shit whether you live or die this day. But you might care. One...two..."

"Stop!" The doctor chokes out. "I...I'll do it." Immediately Haymitch releases his collar and pulls the knife away from the man's throat.

"Get to work," Haymitch orders. "And if she dies, you won't be far behind her."

* * *

_Romulus Thread can't believe it._

_One minute, he had these district scum in his iron fist. The next minute, everything had gone to shit._

_That traitorous Everdeen bitch! She's ruining_ everything _! But no, it's not just her. It's the rummy and the punk with one leg. They're in on it too! And where the fuck did those four by the check-in table get_ guns _? In the blink of an eye, eight good Peacekeepers...assassinated!_

_But it's not just that. Unless his eyes are playing tricks on him, some of his_ own _Peacekeepers are traitors also! Fucking bastards! Thread has never seen anything like it in his long career as a Peacekeeper. Treason from sworn Peacekeepers! Violating the very oath that he's held sacred for decades!_

_Well, Thread has something for all of these traitors, positioned carefully on a pair of rooftops, and...no! It_ can't _be!_ Another  _traitor on the Justice Building roof? It has to be. Both machine guns are silent. That bastard Potter._ He _is in on this too! Murderer! He's killed seven...count them,_ seven _...good, faithful Peacekeepers and is, at this very moment, sniping at other loyal Peacekeepers!_

_Thread smiles as he sees an opening. On occasions like this, he likes to wander around the Square, making his presence felt by as much district scum as possible, and today was no exception. So, when the shit hit the fan, he was working his way back up towards the stage, off to the side of the boys' assembly area._

_Thread knows his duty. As Head Peacekeeper for District Twelve, he's tasked with maintaining order. What's happening now is the antithesis of order. And, for him to restore order, he needs to eliminate the threat...and kill the Victors now assembled on the stage. It's obvious to even an idiot that once you cut off the Rebel head, the body will soon die as well._

_There! Even as chaos replaces order in the Square, Romulus Thread grins in triumph. The rummy has returned with the Mine Company Doctor, no doubt to work on that traitorous slut that his heroic Sergeant Breccia managed to put a couple of slugs into, before she was murdered in turn by that one-legged punk. Thread begins to raise his carbine and is distracted by a small noise off to his right side. In annoyance he glances to his right, seeing no one but that disgusting old goat merchant, who immediately scuttles off to avoid Thread's wrath._

_"Filthy Twelve shit bag." Thread mutters to himself as he, once again, turns his attention to the task at hand...the elimination of three traitorous so-called "Victors," who gladly accepted the generosity of the Capitol when it suited them. And, as his gun sight settles on the head of the Seam slut Everdeen, he grins again, imagining the gratitude that President Snow will show him once he, Thread, crushes this uprising once and for all, and is able to deliver the heads of the traitors personally, and -_

_"Psst." Thread jerks his head to his right in annoyance. That fucking goat merchant! Once he's done with the Victors, he'll toss in "Goat Man's" head as a bonus, no extra -_

_Thread stiffens in surprise as a surprisingly strong, gnarly hand clamps down over his nose and mouth from behind. Before he can react, the hand jerks his head roughly to one side and Thread feels the deadly kiss of steel on his exposed throat._

_All Thread can manage is a muffled scream as Goat Man, previously known as Sergeant Silenus Festuca, Corps of Peacekeepers, Republic of Panem, plunges the point of his knife deep into Thread's throat, expertly twisting the blade while simultaneously slicing outward, cutting through Thread's carotid artery in a single, neat motion._

_Festuca roughly pushes Thread away, deftly avoiding the fountain of blood spurting from the torn throat of the Head Peacekeeper. Thread gags and stumbles forward, his hands clawing ineffectually at the spurting gash in his neck, and falls to his knees before collapsing on his side, his head turning and his eyes lighting on his assassin._

_And, even as Thread's vision dims as his life pumps out of him, staining the pavement beneath his body a bright crimson, his last thought is_ why does he look familiar?

_Festuca watches impassively as Thread gurgles, jerks spasmodically, and dies, his eyes still wide open and staring. Festuca then steps forward, carefully wiping Thread's blood off of his knife, and then strips the gun belt from the dead Peacekeeper, buckling it securely around his own waist before stooping down and recovering the carbine._

_"You always were careless about covering your six, Romulus," Festuca says softly; taking one last, long look at his former trainee before finally turning away._

* * *

Instinctively, I duck down as the hovercraft swoops in low, the single machine gun in its nose spitting out death. I watch helplessly as it passes in front of the stage, flying from my left to my right, machine gun bullets striking pavement and flesh indiscriminately.

A movement off to my left catches my eye, and I turn my head and see Jackson and her team running toward the Justice Building. Frantically I wave my hand over my head, trying to attract her attention, even as the hovercraft begins a long, looping turn in midair, in preparation for another machine gun run.

"Jackson!" I shout. Somehow above the din Jackson hears me and waves in acknowledgement as she and her team continue toward the stage and the Justice Building. I point frantically to the sky and the hovercraft.

"On it!" Jackson shouts back, even as I see Leeg, running close behind her, talking frantically into some sort of communications device on her wrist.

I glance back at the hovercraft, now almost finished with its turn, and hear an ear-splitting  _whoosh_  come from the general direction of the Meadow. As I watch, a fireball corkscrews up from the ground, heading straight for the hovercraft.

The hovercraft pilot sees it also, and jerks the aircraft violently to one side, then the other, in an attempt to avoid the streaking fireball...to no avail. The fireball collides with one wing of the hovercraft and explodes with a roar, causing the hovercraft to tumble wildly out of control and crash, somewhere in the vicinity of the outskirts of the Seam and the perimeter fence.

I can't see the crash, but I can hear it. And there's no mistaking the fireball that rises up from the Seam. I can only hope that no one was hurt or killed when the hovercraft went down.

Jackson and her team run up the steps and onto the stage, stopping short as soon as they see Cressida, who's still being held by Katniss and worked on by the doctor, Mrs. Everdeen, and Prim. Jackson quickly looks at each of us in turn...myself, Haymitch, the Mayor, and Effie...satisfying herself that no one else has been wounded.

"How bad?" Jackson asks softly.

"Bad," Mrs. Everdeen mutters in response.

The doors to the Justice Building suddenly swing open, causing Haymitch and I to both pull our knives, only to see Darius, accompanied by some of the younger Community Home kids, all heavily weighed down with weapons, gun belts, and ammunition, step out onto the stage. We slip our knives back into their sheaths as Darius joins us.

"Shit," he mutters as he looks down at Cressida. At that time the doctor stands up, wiping his hands on a scrap of cloth before turning to Haymitch and I.

"I've done everything I can," he announces. "Which isn't a great deal. This woman needs a hospital. I'll be blunt." He pauses for a moment, eyeing Haymitch warily. "Without proper medical care, she will die."

I glance at Katniss. She's still kneeling next to Cressida, holding her head in her lap. Her expression doesn't change as the doctor speaks.

"I've given her some morphling, for the pain," the doctor continues. "The dressings are crude, but surprisingly effective. There's just nothing more that I can do without a trauma center." He pauses for a moment. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I bet you are," Haymitch mutters sarcastically.

"Haymitch!" I snap. Haymitch looks at me in surprise. "Enough," I say. Haymitch opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it and nods, once, before turning away.

"Hey!" A voice calls out from the Square. I turn and see Madge Undersee and July Barrow running across the Square from the back building, along with several Community Home kids. They're all carrying weapons, gun belts, and ammunition.

"Madge?" The Mayor steps forward, shock and confusion written on his face, as Madge, July, and the kids run up the steps and onto the stage. "You're involved in this too?"

"I'm sorry I couldn't say anything," Madge says apologetically. "But yes, Dad. I've been involved for...a while now. I had to. Because of Aunt Maysilee." Madge looks down at Cressida. "How is she?"

"Dying," Katniss replies bitterly.

Darius steps forward. "Uhh...listen. We need to consolidate and start getting ready to evacuate." He pauses for a moment, looking down at Cressida. "This has gone off better than I had hoped for. I've only lost two of my Peacekeepers." He looks over at Jackson. "Looks like you have all your people."

"Yeah," Jackson replies. "No significant injuries. With my team," she adds quickly. "I, uhh, I mean, we've been in contact with our security squad outside the fence."

"Did they shoot that fireball at the hovercraft?" I ask.

"That was no fireball," Jackson replies with satisfaction. "That was a shoulder fired surface to air missile."

"Whatever it was, it did the job," Haymitch says. He turns to Darius and Jackson. "So, what's next?"

"The remaining Peacekeepers have fallen back toward the train station," Darius replies. "I think the Peacekeepers on the Tribute Train have linked up with them."

"Can we expect any trouble from them?" Haymitch asks.

Darius shakes his head. "They're pretty much leaderless except for a sergeant or two. Right now I expect they're fighting in ones and twos, but they are probably in a total defensive mode right now. I wouldn't count on them mounting any sort of counterattack any time soon."

Haymitch looks thoughtful. "So the Peacekeeper barracks and compound should be clear."

Darius nods. "Yeah, should be."

Haymitch turns to Jackson. "And your squad is in the forest?"

"They're in position right outside the Meadow fence," Jackson replies.

"How about the locals?" Haymitch asks July Barrow.

"Last I saw, Thom and Bristel were in the group that's pushing the Peacekeepers back towards the train station," July replies. He grins wickedly. "They're putting the captured Peacekeeper weapons to good use."

"It's a wonder that none of them has ended up shooting themselves in the foot," Jackson remarks snidely. "No offense," she adds, glancing over at July, "but they're untrained civilians."

"Yeah, well, they know where the dangerous end of a gun is," July snaps.

"Enough," Haymitch says, holding up one hand. "You two wanna get in a pissin' contest, you do it on your own time." Haymitch pauses, looking thoughtful. "Okay. Well, the one thing that we know for sure is that Snow  _will_  hit back. He won't let this go unpunished. The questions are...when and how?"

Leeg answers that question almost immediately. She had been doing something with the device that she wore on her arm (a "commicuff," she had called it) and now she looks up at us in alarm.

"Message from our command and control bird," she says breathlessly. "They report eight bogies inbound from due west. ETA is seventy-five minutes."

"That quickly?" Jackson asks.

"Probably not from the Capitol," Haymitch replies grimly. "They probably had a flight of hovercraft staged somewhere closer. Due west...hmmm, probably either District Six or Eight."

"My money is on Six," Darius says. "They build hovercraft there, and the Capitol has a decent sized auxiliary base just outside the main hovercraft plant."

"No matter," Haymitch glances over his shoulder as a fresh burst of gunfire erupts near the train station. "We have a little more than an hour to get the hell outta here."

"Bombs?" Jackson asks. "Or Peacekeepers?"

"Either or, it doesn't matter," Darius looks grim. "Eight hovercraft can carry a lot of Peacekeepers...and you can bet that these will come very heavily armed and will be expecting a fight. And we can't fight bombs."

"What about missiles?" I ask.

"The squad outside the fence probably didn't bring enough for eight hovercraft," Jackson replies. "Our best chance is evacuation. Now." She turns to Darius. "Potter, we'll need some help in suppressing the remaining Peacekeeper threat. I'll take my team and -"

It's at that moment that Cressida awakens.

* * *

All this time, Katniss had never moved from her position on the stage. She still has Cressida's head cradled in her lap. So she was the first to hear Cressida speak.

"Katniss?"

"Cressida?" Katniss whips her head around, staring down at Cressida's blood-spattered face. Katniss had been looking up at us, following our discussion on what to do next.

"You...were shot," Cressida manages to wheeze out. "I saw it."

"Body armor," Katniss replies, clumsily wiping fresh tears on her dress sleeves.

Cressida's eyes flutter shut as her lips curl in a crooked, pained smile. "Now...you tell me."

"How?" I ask softly. "How is she awake?"

"Morphling," the doctor replies. "It suppresses pain. I didn't dare give her a large dose, though. Not in her condition."

"Shouldn't it have put her out, then?" I ask.

The doctor shrugs. "Morphling is a funny drug. Normally I would say yes. But here, apparently, it had the effect of allowing her conscious mind to re-focus on something other than pain. I've seen this effect before."

"Messalla," Cressida is saying now, her voice a hoarse whisper.

"Right here." Messalla steps forward, kneeling next to Cressida.

"Tell me," Cressida gasps, "tell me you got it on camera."

Messalla nods, even as he wipes his eyes with his sleeve. "I got it."

"Good," Cressida whispers. "Trained you...well." Cressida coughs, spraying both Katniss and Messalla with a fine, bloody mist.

Katniss never even flinches. "Rest," she says gently, even as Cressida's eyes flutter shut again.

I watch for a moment as Katniss tenderly brushes Cressida's hair from her forehead before turning back to the doctor. "There's  _nothing_  you can do?" I demand.

The doctor shakes his head. "She shouldn't still be alive," he replies. "She's resilient. I've never seen anything like it."

"And that brings up another point," Haymitch says. "Getting the wounded outta here." He turns to Darius. "How many trucks do the Peacekeepers have?"

"Ten squad carriers," Darius replies. "They're armored. Two smaller command and control trucks."

"Twelve?" Haymitch asks. "That's  _it_?"

"This is a small garrison," Darius says defensively. "No need for mounted patrols. Twelve is more than enough."

"Okay, okay," Haymitch says, throwing his hands up. "Can they travel off road?"

"Of course," Darius looks thoughtful. "Plan on taking a trip?"

"A short one." He turns to the doctor. "Okay, doc. You work in Capitol Liaison. What do they have on wheels?"

"Not my area of expertise," the doctor replies dryly. "Besides, you already said I was dead if she dies...so why should I help you?"

"In a hurry to die sooner?" Jackson asks quietly.

The doctor looks at Jackson for a moment before looking back at Haymitch. "I'm not sure," he finally says. "Some cars. A few hopper trucks that the Mining Company uses. I think the Freight Office at the train station has a couple of trucks also."

"Shit," Haymitch mutters. "Not nearly enough." He turns to Darius. "How many can fit into one of those squad carriers?"

"They're designed for eight." Darius looks thoughtful. "But that's fully equipped Peacekeepers. Probably get half again as many civilians. Say twelve per truck. Half that for the command and control trucks."

"A hundred and thirty-two, packed to the gills," Haymitch says. "And the Capitol Liaison cars?"

"If you're planning on using any of the Capitol Liaison vehicles or the Mine Company trucks to evacuate, forget it," the Mayor chimes in. "They'll bog down off road. The cars don't have the power to go cross-country and the trucks are too heavy. They wouldn't get half a kilometer."

"Better than nothing," Haymitch mutters.

"What about the train?" I turn towards Madge's voice.

"What about it?" Jackson asks. "We're not heading toward the Capitol. The tracks run southwest. We want to head northeast."

"The tracks head northeast also." Madge points out. "This line ran all the way to Thirteen back before the Dark Days."

"How do you know that?" July demands.

Madge looks at July in irritation. "I can read," she replies archly. "It's in some of the old histories. The line ran all the way to Thirteen."

"Madge, that line hasn't been maintained in over seventy-five years," the Mayor points out gently. "The tracks probably won't be able to take the weight of the train."

"Dad, it doesn't have to for very long," Madge replies. "It just needs to get us a few kilometers out of Twelve."

"We saw the rail line from our hovercraft when we did aerial recon," Jackson adds. "As best that I can recall, we didn't see any breaks in the line until it reaches the river crossing."

"What's at the river crossing?" Haymitch asks.

"A collapsed railway bridge," Jackson replies.

"Sweetheart, you ever hunt up that way?" Haymitch asks, turning toward Katniss.

Katniss shakes her head. "Gale -" even now her voice hitches a bit when she speaks Gale's name "- Gale and I would usually go north or northwest." She pauses, looking down at Cressida, still nestled in her lap. "It's more open up that way. Hunting wasn't as good."

Haymitch scratches his chin thoughtfully. "Okay. Darius, take your Peacekeepers and whoever else you need and get those carriers ready to go. Mr. Mayor, can you help out and see what you can do about 'borrowing' the Capitol and Mine Company trucks?"

"Haymitch," the Mayor says carefully, "Annaliese...she's not well. I suppose you noticed that she wasn't here today. I'll help, but I don't know if she's up to making a strenuous trip."

Madge looks at her father in alarm. "Dad -"

"Karl," Haymitch cuts in softly, "you can't stay here. You know that." Haymitch turns to Madge. "Go with your father. Help him in any way you can." Haymitch turns to the doctor. "You too. Go talk to the Capitol Liaison people. If they wanna live they can assemble at the train station in thirty minutes."

The Mayor, Madge, and the doctor walk away, with Madge talking urgently to her father. Haymitch, shaking his head, watches them walk for a moment before turning to me. "You're with me. We're gonna see a man about a train."

"What about Katniss and Cressida?" I ask insistently. "I'm not leaving them here unprotected."

"They won't be," Messalla says firmly, stepping forward, a Peacekeeper carbine clutched in his hands. Behind him I see Castor and Pollux, similarly armed.

Haymitch raises his eyebrows. "You boys know how to use those things?"

"We showed them," Jackson says. "Speaking of that..." Jackson gestures to Homes, who steps forward with a pair of Peacekeeper carbines clutched in his hands.

"These are for you two," Jackson explains as Homes hands us the carbines. "Pay attention. Each has a full magazine. Selector switch is on semi-auto. One shot for each pull of the trigger." He taps the muzzles. "That's the dangerous end," he adds with a grin.

Reluctantly I take the carbine, and then I bend down to kiss Katniss. "I'll be back."

Katniss nods. "I'll be okay. I've got Mom and Prim here. Effie, too." She looks down at Cressida's barely breathing form. "I...I can't leave her. Not after..."

I nod. "I know." I kiss her once more. "I'll be back." I say again, straightening up.

Katniss gives me a small smile. "I'll be here."

It's the first smile I've seen from Katniss all day.

**PART VI**

I flinch at a burst of gunfire off to my left. The remaining Peacekeepers are bottled up near the loading platforms, and, according to Thom and Bristel, don't seem to be eager to charge out and face the opposing Rebels any time soon.

That doesn't mean that they're not dangerous, though. Right now, they're cornered. And a cornered animal is not to be taken lightly.

"How fast can you get the train turned around?" Haymitch is asking the engineer, a short, sallow man from District Six.

"We don't actually turn the train around," the engineer explains. "We switch the engine from one end of the train to the other."

"Whatever," Haymitch sighs impatiently. "How fast can you do that?"

The engineer thinks for a moment. "Twenty minutes."

"Good," Haymitch barks. "Get to it."

"You want to head  _northeast?_ " The engineer asks in amazement.

"Got a problem with that?" Haymitch asks pleasantly.

"The track condition, for one," the engineer replies. "Plus, there's nothing out there but wilderness!"

"Hypothetically speaking," Haymitch says, "if you took your train northeast, how fast could you go without knowing the condition of the track?"

"More like how slow would we have to go," the engineer retorts. "I wouldn't feel comfortable going much over about thirty kilometers per hour."

Thirty. This train can do well over three hundred.

"Fine," Haymitch replies. "Get to it."

"But -"

"Here's your options," Haymitch snaps. "Help us, and maybe live to a ripe old age, or stay here, and be dead in about -" Haymitch glances at his watch "- an hour."

The engineer gulps. "We'll be ready to leave in twenty-five minutes."

"Good," Haymitch says, turning to the well-dressed woman standing nearby. "Get on it," he adds as the engineer hurries away.

"You wished to see me?" The woman looks at Haymitch with obvious distaste.

"You head up the Capitol people on the train?" Haymitch asks.

"Yes."

"Then yes, madam, I do wish to see you." The woman and I both flinch at a fresh burst of gunfire, while Haymitch doesn't even seem to hear it.  _How does he stay so calm?_  "We're commandeering your train," Haymitch explains.

"I heard," the woman says coldly.

"Good!" Haymitch says with a smile. "Now, to prove to you that I'm not the heartless bastard that you undoubtedly think I am, I'm gonna give you a choice...the same choice that I intend to give the Capitol Liaison people. You can take your chances and stay here...which means that you will most like be dead in an hour or so...or you can surrender and come with us, in which case you might just live longer than an hour."

"And be branded a traitor?" The woman asks.

"What would you rather be?" Haymitch asks reasonably. "A dead Loyalist, or a live traitor?"

"My people are noncombatants," the woman reminds us. "Do you guarantee our safety?"

"Madam," Haymitch says carefully, "I guarantee that no harm will come to you from us. That's the best that I can do."

The woman thinks about Haymitch's offer for a moment. "I accept," she finally says.

Haymitch grins again. "Good! Now, here's what I need you to do. First, evacuate your berths on the train. The beds will be needed for the wounded and infirm. Second, clear out the garment car. Toss all those fine Capitol clothes onto the platform."

"The clothes? Whatever for?" The woman looks confused.

"Three," Haymitch continues, ignoring the woman, "the garment car will be reserved for the exclusive use of any and all Capitol citizens that choose to accompany us."

"But...but there's no seats," the woman sputters in indignation.

"You're breaking my heart," Haymitch sneers. "Now motivate! You're burnin' daylight, Duchess!"

Haymitch turns away from the sputtering woman just as the Mayor, Madge, and the doctor return. "We're set with the cars and trucks," the Mayor says. "The train station delivery trucks, too. I told them to assemble in the Square as soon as possible."

Haymitch nods in satisfaction. "Good." He puts his hand on the Mayor's shoulder. "Karl, the train is to be used for the sick, wounded, and elderly. Go get Annaliese. I want you three on the train."

"Thank you, Haymitch," the Mayor says thickly as he turns to Madge. "Let's go get your mother, Madge."

As the Mayor and Madge turn away, I put my hand on Madge's arm. "It's on your way," I say hurriedly, "Delly's house, I mean. Can you stop there and tell her about the train? Her grandparents are too old. They'll never make the walk."

Madge smiles, quickly wrapping her free arm around my neck and kissing my cheek. "Of course, Peeta. See you later. And don't tell Katniss that I kissed you!" She adds with a wink.

"See you later, Madge," I grin in return as Haymitch turns back to the doctor. Madge lets go of me and, with a final glance over her shoulder, hurries away with her father.

"Well?" Haymitch asks the doctor.

"I've told them," the doctor says brusquely.

"And?"

"Perhaps half have agreed to go," the doctor replies. "The others have indicated that they will take their chances with the Peacekeepers when they arrive."

"And you?" Haymitch asks.

"I have a patient," the doctor replies stiffly. "At least, until she dies. I shall stay with her until that time." He swallows heavily. "At that time, I suppose that you -"

"Relax," Haymitch grunts. "I ain't gonna kill you. We got other wounded, doc. Of course, you have the option of staying here..."

"I shall accompany you, thank you just the same," the doctor replies stiffly, his relief evident.

"Okay, then," Haymitch says, turning back to me. "Do Thom and Bristel know the plan?"

"Hold the Peacekeepers in place until the train leaves," I recite. "Then head for the square. Board any trucks remaining in the square. If the trucks are gone, head for the Meadow. The fence will be breached in the Meadow once Darius kills the power. Round up as many as you can and head for the forest. Once in the forest, head northeast. We'll assemble at the collapsed bridge."

Haymitch nods. "Good. Okay, kid. Let's head back and collect up our people."

I hesitate. "You go on ahead. I...I have something to do first."

Haymitch looks at me closely for a moment before nodding. "Don't take too long."

"Don't plan to," I reply. "See you in a bit."

* * *

"No."

"Mother," I say patiently, "you don't understand. Peacekeepers...or worse...are on their way  _right now_! If you don't leave -"

"They're on their way because of your treason!" Mother sputters. "You and that filthy little Seam slut that you've taken up with! Oh, it's such a good thing that your father is dead! It would kill him to see what you've done!"

I feel my face flush with anger. "I'm really sorry that Poppa is dead," I say through clenched teeth. "At least  _he_  was worth saving."

I don't wait for my mother's response. I spin and storm out of the small apartment, slamming the door behind me. I'm halfway down the walk before a soft voice stops me.

"Peeta."

I stop and turn. My brother is standing in the door, his arm around the shoulders of his wife. "Look," he begins. "You know how mother is -"

"You're all going to die," I say tonelessly. "You, Eldreth -" I nod towards his wife "- and mother." I shake my head sadly. "You know what's sad about all this, Alec? It's sad because none of you has to die. And that's exactly what will happen in less than an hour."

I adjust the sling of my carbine and, once again, turn away. "Goodbye, Alec," I call out over my shoulder.

He doesn't answer, and I don't look back again.

* * *

After confronting my mother and brother, I have just three more tasks to perform. I have to go back to the Village to pick up the small bag I had packed (along with similar bags for Katniss and Haymitch, as well as Katniss's bow and her small stock of arrows), along with Prim's menagerie of cat and goats, and I have to take Effie along so she can use my phone. Effie has to call the Capitol, and Seneca Crane specifically, to tell him that she is being forced to go with us against her will.

"You gotta do it, Princess," Haymitch had said. "If you don't cover your ass, and if this thing goes to shit, then they can charge you with treason along with the rest of us. You ain't done nothin' wrong. So go with Peeta and talk to Seneca."

Reluctantly, Effie agreed...although I think that, in the beginning, her desire to accompany us have more to do with not dying than it has to do with any rebellious fervor on her part. She dials the phone while I ducked over to Haymitch's to grab his bag. She is still talking when I go to Katniss's to grab her bag (along with personal items belonging to her mother and sister, and her bow and arrows), as well as Prim's cat, Buttercup, and her two goats. By the time I grab my bag Effie is done. I wordlessly hand her the leads for the two goats and the pet carrier containing a very indignant Buttercup as I manhandle three bags along with Katniss's bow and arrows, and we leave Victors' Village for the last time.

"I swear," Effie had said as she gingerly leads the goats to the waiting squad carrier, "I feel like taking a shower after talking with that man. Every time."

I just hope that she was able to convince Seneca Crane that she wasn't committing treason.

* * *

There's a very slight lurch as the Tribute Train begins to move. I stare out the window, as the District Twelve train station appears to roll past the train. It's an optical illusion, of course...the train is moving, not the station. But it's disorienting just the same.

I'm standing in what was my bedroom on this very same train just one short year ago. Cressida lays on the bed, an IV drip swaying slightly on a flimsy-looking stand next to her. The drip is a sterile saline solution. Attached to the drip is a morphling pump that automatically injects a small dose of the painkiller every five minutes. The Mine Company doctor grabbed it, along with some other medical supplies, from his small clinic before the final evacuation. Not that it would do any good in the long run. Cressida is living on borrowed time.

Still, she's part of the team, not to mention that she willingly endangered herself to protect Katniss. So we do everything possible to keep her alive for as long as possible.

One hundred thirty-two made it out on Peacekeeper vehicles. A hundred more or so packed the Capitol Liaison cars, train station delivery trucks, and the big coal hopper trucks that, according to Mayor Undersee, will be lucky to make half a kilometer once outside the perimeter fence. The all-terrain Peacekeeper trucks are following the other vehicles, although there's nothing that they can do once one gets stuck. Moral support, I guess.

Silenus Festuca is driving one of the squad carriers. It was his idea that they follow the other vehicles. He reported that he personally killed Romulus Thread, and, after viewing Thread's bloody remains, I have no doubt that Festuca is true to his word. That in and of itself is enough to raise his stature with the surviving Rebel Peacekeepers so that even Darius is deferring to him.

I'm not sure how many are on the train. Hundreds, is my guess...all either too old, too sick, or too injured to move on their own...and, of course, with their families or close friends along to help them.

Everyone else is on foot. A thousand, maybe more. Not counting the dead from today's uprising, of course. How many dead is anyone's guess. Certainly more than a hundred, counting Peacekeepers. Perhaps as many as five hundred. But walking now is the only option, for those that choose to leave. Many are too afraid to leave. Others, like my mother, are Loyalists to the Capitol and President Snow. And some are just too damn slow. As for the walkers...those that decide to take their chances in the forest...Darius and the surviving Rebel Peacekeepers promise to stay with them, the same way that they are staying with the other vehicles. We just hope that they can get far enough away from the district before those eight hovercraft arrive.

I glance around the opulent room, now turned into a makeshift hospital. Cressida, her face an unhealthy white, is lying on her back, her ragged tortured breathing the only sound besides the soft murmurs of Prim and Mrs. Everdeen as they make her as comfortable as possible. Katniss has never left Cressida's side and is clutching the older woman's hand tightly. As I look at the scene before me, my mind involuntarily flashes back to the only other time that Cressida was lying in my bed.

Angrily I shake my head, willing the image away. Katniss glances up at me with a puzzled expression. I force a smile to my face, which, after a moment, she returns, before turning back to Cressida, gently dabbing at the blood around Cressida's nose, chin, and mouth with a damp washcloth.

There's a soft knock on the door, and then the door opens and Haymitch sticks his head through the opening. "Ladies," he says, addressing Mrs. Everdeen and Prim, "the doctor could use your help. He's across the hall in Katniss's old room. And Peeta, can I see you for a minute?"

Prim looks at Katniss apologetically. "Katniss, if you need us -"

"Go on," Katniss urges her sister. "Nothing more you can do here, anyway." There's infinite sadness in her voice as she speaks. Prim hesitates for a moment before following her mother out the door.

"I'm gonna go see what Haymitch wants," I say as I head to the door. "Remember, if you have to use the bathroom, the goats and Buttercup are locked up in there." It was the only place I could think of to stash the animals.

"Okay," Katniss replies woodenly. I look at her helplessly for a moment before slipping out into the hallway, carefully shutting the door behind me.

Outside the relative quiet of my old berth is complete pandemonium. Haymitch is waiting for me patiently. "Follow me," he says as he begins to move toward the front of the train.

"Where are we going?" I ask as I brush by a seeming endless crush of refugees.

"Comm room."

We slowly make our way through the packed train to the Comm room. Haymitch shakes his head. "It's nuts to butts in here," he mutters as we fight through the exhausted, panicky crowd. Finally we reach the Comm room and enter.

The Comm room is the nerve center of the Tribute Train. It's packed with sophisticated electronic equipment and several viewing screens. Most of these are on now, displaying grainy, skipping pictures of what looks to be different districts.

Jackson looks up as we enter. Leeg, busy at a control console, glances up, smiles and nods, but says nothing.

"What's up?" Haymitch asks casually.

"We're in touch with Darius Potter," Jackson replies. "All vehicles have cleared the fence and are in the forest, along with several hundred refugees on foot." She examines a chronometer strapped to her wrist. "We made better time than I would have expected. Capitol hovercraft are still about twenty to twenty-five minutes out."

"What's all this?" I ask, pointing to the screens.

Jackson smiles grimly. "The fruits of our labors." She begins to point at different screens. "Uprisings in Districts Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, and Eleven. No video from Four or Ten but audio reports of 'problems.' Of course, nothing from One and Two."

"What about Three and Five?" Haymitch asks.

Jackson shakes her head. "Nothing either visual or audio. But we know that Beetee Latier is active." She smiles grimly. "He's the one managing to punch these broadcasts through Capitol jamming."

"And now that Capitol knows he's involved," I say angrily. "These trains are all bugged!"

Leeg spins around in her chair. "And the bugs are controlled from here," she says calmly, "and I've disabled them all."

I should have known. "Sorry," I mutter.

"Anyway," Jackson says impatiently, ignoring me, "we've been in contact with Thirteen. They'll begin picking up refugees from Twelve at first light." She pauses for a moment. "It will take a while. We don't want to commit the entire fleet to recovery operations, in case the Capitol launches another attack."

"How do you know they won't?" Haymitch asks.

"We don't," Jackson replies. "But our stealth bird hasn't picked up any more inbound hovercraft other than the original eight. Right now Snow probably has his hands full. He probably doesn't have any more assets to commit to Twelve with everything else that's going on."

"I see," Haymitch replies, sounding unconvinced.

"There's one more thing," Jackson says before we leave. "President Coin has directed that you three Victors, along with your Escort, be on the first evac bird tomorrow morning."

Haymitch looks at Jackson for a moment before replying. "We'll let Katniss know."

I suddenly realize what's been bugging me ever since Haymitch and I had come forward to the Comm room. "Lieutenant," I say, as Haymitch and I turn to leave, "where's the others? Mitchell and Homes?"

"The doctor, along with Mrs. Everdeen and Primrose, should be seeing to them now," Jackson replies grimly. "They were both wounded in the final battle before we evacuated. I've been told their wounds are superficial, but painful. And Homes will have to be carried." She pauses and fixes us with her eyes. "We've bled for your district. Don't think we aren't committed to this."

Haymitch and I have nothing more to say after that.

* * *

Cressida died a few minutes before we reached the ruined bridge.

She never awakened after that one time on the stage. She had barely made a sound, even when we had to pick her up and carry her to the truck that took her to the train. And she died so quietly that no one was ever quite sure exactly when she died. She just...stopped breathing.

I wish I had the luxury to grieve right now.

The train stops with a lurch. Gently, Katniss lays Cressida's hand across her chest before standing up. She's dry-eyed and calm as she gathers up her bag, along with her bow and arrows, and then turns to me.

"We're taking her with us."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The door opens behind us and Prim bursts into the room. She takes one look at the still, broken body on the bed before looking up at Katniss and I with wide, sorrowful eyes.

"She's -"

"- dead," Katniss finishes in a flat, emotionless voice. "Where's Mom?"

"Observation car," Prim replies. "With the doctor. Most of the litter cases are there."

Katniss nods. "Find Messalla," she says, turning to me. "We're taking her with us."

"Katniss -" I begin.

"Now!" Katniss barks. Her face instantly softens. "Peeta. Please."

I nod, and step into the chaos of the corridor. Finding Messalla is easy. He, along with Castor and Pollux, were in the lounge car, along with Haymitch.

"End of the line, kid," Haymitch says cheerfully. "We're assembling right out here." He points out the line of windows. I see a tree line a couple hundred meters away. "We're gonna hunker down in the woods until everyone else catches up with us and -"

"Cressida's dead," I say abruptly. I turn to Messalla. "Katniss is asking for you."

Messalla's face screws up in grief for a second or two before he, too, settles into an impassive mask. He nods and beckons to Castor and Pollux. The three men make their way through the packed lounge car towards my old berth.

"I'm sorry, kid," Haymitch says sincerely, and then adds, "What does Katniss want with Messalla?"

"She's taking Cressida with us," I reply simply.

Haymitch shakes his head. "Jackson ain't gonna like that. Cressida's  _gone_ , kid. We've got living people to worry about." He absently scratches his chin. "But I know why she's doin' it."

"I doubt if Katniss cares one way or another what Jackson thinks," I mutter.

"You got a point, kid," Haymitch says. "Come on, let's get these people off the train.

* * *

"We have everybody?" Jackson asks.

We're hunkered down in the tree line. The train, now abandoned, sits on the tracks. All around us, District Twelve refugees are milling about, most still in shock, confused and frightened by the unknowns that the forest holds. Almost all of these people had never so much been outside the perimeter fence before today.

"I think so," Haymitch replies. In the distance, back toward District Twelve, we can all hear a series of deep rumblings and see a mushroom cloud of dense, black smoke rising into the sky. The hovercraft hadn't been bringing Peacekeepers to Twelve, after all.

Instead, they had brought bombs.

"We have a status update," Jackson continues. "Leeg?"

Leeg steps forward. "Some of the bombers tried to attack the refugees that are escaping on foot. We don't think they were expecting any resistance. Our security squad shot two down with surface to air missiles, and a third was damaged by machine gun fire from the Peacekeeper squad carriers. There've been no further attacks on the refugees since."

"Fucking cowards," Jackson spits. "No stomach for a real fight!"

"It's a good thing they aren't, ma'am," Leeg adds softly. "Colonel Boggs reports that he's expended all of his surface to air missiles."

"What's the word on the foot refugees?" Haymitch asks. "Any more casualties, and any estimates on when they'll get here?"

"No further casualties," Leeg replies. "And it'll probably be nightfall by the time they arrive here."

"Okay, then," Jackson glances around at the disorganized group huddling forlornly in the forest. "Wounded and caregivers in the center of camp. Able bodied on the perimeter. Tell 'em to not get trigger happy and shoot up the others when they arrive." She glances over at Katniss, sitting a short distance away next to the mattress-cover wrapped body of Cressida. "Does she know that she's on the first evac tomorrow?"

"No," I admit. "We...just never got around to telling her. And she's insisting on bringing Cressida with us."

"Out of the question," Jackson snaps. "We bury her here."

"With what, ma'am?" Leeg asks softly. "We don't have shovels, or picks."

"And Katniss won't let you just leave her out here," Haymitch points out. "Like it or not, Missy...Cressida's comin' to Thirteen with us."

For a moment, Jackson looks like she's inclined to argue. "Fine," she finally says in a flat tone. "You can deal with her, Abernathy."

Haymitch watches Jackson stalk away. "For some reason, that woman is strangely unlikable," he mutters. He sighs deeply. "Guess I better go talk to Katniss."

I put my hand on his arm. "Let me."

"Me, too," Leeg adds.

Haymitch nods. "Best idea I've heard all day."

**PART VII**

"Feel like company?"

I glance up in the gloom, barely able to make out Haymitch standing over me. "Pull up some dirt," I reply.

Slowly, Haymitch settles down next to me. He pulls a flask from his coat pocket, takes a deep pull, and then carefully replaces it. "Homes tells me there's no liquor in Thirteen. I may have to re-think this whole Rebellion thing."

Haymitch's attempt at a joke falls flat and I say nothing as I continue to stare back at the glow on the horizon that marks where District Twelve used to be. My mother and my brother are there, in that inferno. I try to feel grief but I can't. I just hope it was quick for them both.

"I...kid, I'm no good at this sorta thing," Haymitch mutters. "But you did good today." He points off at Katniss sitting a short distance away with her mother and sister...and Cressida's shroud-wrapped body. "She did, too."

"I did good," I repeat softly. "Yeah, people keep coming by and telling me how good I did." I shake my head.

"You did," Haymitch insists. "These people are grateful to you both."

"We'll see how 'grateful' they are if they end up dead because of me," I reply bitterly.

"You don't see it, do you?" Haymitch asks.

"See what?"

"Two years ago," Haymitch continues, "these people readily believed every lie being told about you. You were on a universal shit list, kid. And now look. You're a hero...you and Katniss both...but especially you. You've finally got it."

I look at Haymitch in confusion. "Got what?"

"Affirmation. Redemption. Absolution." Haymitch pauses for a moment. "You got it. You got what you wanted."

"Absolution," I mutter. "Two years ago I would have given anything to hear that. But it means nothing to me. Not anymore. But there's one person that received absolution today."

"Who?"

I point at Cressida's still form, lying so securely wrapped in a stained mattress cover. "Her. She was the  _only_  one that believed me, and believed  _in_  me, from the beginning. She tried her hardest to protect me from the lies. She did what she could to help and protect Katniss, too." I feel tears springing to my eyes as my grief finally begins to bubble to the surface. "She did all that, and she didn't  _have_  to. And even when she made a...mistake...it was because of how badly she felt for  _me_!" I wipe my eyes clumsily on my shirtsleeve. "She was human. She was flawed. She was kind. She was selfless. And now she's dead." I stare for a moment at the pathetic bundle that was once Cressida.

"It's Cressida, not me, that's earned absolution."

**EPILOGUE**

_"You've redone your hair again, Andromeda." President Coriolanus Snow smiles fondly as his granddaughter settles onto the plush couch in front of the large Holo viewer._

_Andromeda Snow blushes slightly as she tugs on the thick braid. "Yes, Grandpa," she admits softly._

_"Well, I'm happy that you've made your peace with Katniss Everdeen," Snow remarks dryly._

_Andromeda says nothing._ Grandpa is too old. He doesn't understand. Katniss and Peeta are...well, they're  _special._  The blood-soaked lovers of District Twelve! And I was acting like a child when I took my braid out. A spoiled, love-struck, petulant child.

_Andromeda's friends don't really understand, either. They tease her...gently, of course, considering who her grandfather is...but they don't understand the bond that Andromeda shares with the two Victors._

_Andromeda has done a lot of thinking since her birthday trip to Twelve. Did people_ really _live like that? Without a decent home, or enough to eat? Grandpa had always said that each district had a specific responsibility to keep Panem healthy. But doesn't that mean that the Capitol has a responsibility to keep the districts healthy?_

_These questions, and others, have bothered Andromeda for a long time. At first, she thought that what she saw in Twelve was a lie...carefully constructed for her benefit. But then she realized that what she saw was too extensive to have been thrown together just to make her question the status quo. It was real. And if it was happening in District Twelve, did that mean it was happening in other districts as well?_

_Andromeda was looking forward to the Games. Not because of all the build-up, even though she enjoyed watching the Reapings, and the Tribute Parade, and the announcement of the training scores, and the Interviews. She was looking forward to seeing Katniss and Peeta again, and maybe talking to them more about life in Twelve._

_And, if they couldn't have an adult conversation, then just being able to spend time with Peeta would be enough._

_On the Holo, Caesar Flickerman is announcing that the Reapings were about to begin. Andromeda puts Katniss and Peeta to the back of her mind and pays rapt attention. There they are! Sitting on the stage next to Haymitch Abernathy! And Miss Trinket is announcing the name of the girl and -_

_Wait!_ Primrose Everdeen _just_ Volunteered _? Yes! Yes, she did! Andromeda steals a look at grandpa and she sees that he's just as shocked as she is! Hold on...what's Katniss saying now?_

_It_ can't  _be! But it_ is _! Katniss is calling for an uprising! There's shooting and the image flickers, fades, dies for a moment, and surges back to life._

_"Andromeda," Grandpa is saying quietly. "To your room. Now."_

_"But -"_

_"_ Now _, Andromeda!"_

_Andromeda recognizes the tone in Grandpa's voice. She knew further argument would be useless. One thing was evident, though. There wasn't going to be a Reaping today._

_Coriolanus Snow presses a button on the arm of his chair even before Andromeda leaves the room. His chief of staff appears instantly._

_"Sir," the man stammers, "I...I saw what happened in Twelve...I -"_

_Snow holds up one hand. "In order, I wish to speak to the Minister of Security, the Minister of Information, the Head Gamemaker, and I wish the entire cabinet to assemble here in one hour."_

_"Right away, sir," the chief says, turning and barking an order to a subordinate in another room to get the Ministers and Seneca Crane on the phone_ right now _!_

_Snow turns away and returns his attention to the Holo. Katniss Everdeen is kneeling now, cradling the head of the blonde resident director in her lap. The woman has obviously been shot and is bleeding profusely. And, as he watches, a small smile creeps across his face._

_"You're full of surprises," he murmurs. "Bravo! Well played, Miss Everdeen. Well played indeed."_

**THE END**


End file.
